


Yahrzeit

by Lady10



Category: NCIS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-01-13 09:43:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady10/pseuds/Lady10
Summary: A case of hate crime hits close to home for one of the team.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, the flashback Ziva remembers in chapter 3 actually happened to me when I was working for a local Jewish Community Center in daycare.

Yahrzeit

 

November 8, 2007

 

Gibbs slammed his phone down hard and growled. “DiNozzo, do you know where David is?”

Tony's head shot up from his computer screen. “No. You gave her the day off, Boss. She could be anywhere. She could be at the mall, grocery shopping, at home, naked, in a nice....foamy.....bubble bath,” he squeaked as Gibbs' hand connected with the back of his head.

“Get your head out of her bathwater and find her. I've tried her cell half a dozen times. She's breakin' Rule 3. Never be unreachable. We have a dead Navy Chaplain in Triangle Park and it sounds like we could use her,” Gibbs barked. He threw McGee the keys. “Gas the truck.”

 

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Ziva took a deep breath and ignored the slight vibration in her pocket yet again. Gibbs promised not to call her in; not today and especially not now. She hit the Ignore button, turned off the phone, placed the phone back in her pocket and entered the glass encased room. She was breaking Rule 3, but today, she didn't much care. Today was the only day of the entire year she did this. Today was her once a year and Gibbs damn well knew it. That he was calling her and trying to call her in meant one of two things. 1. He forgot, which was impossible, because, if Ziva learned anything in the little over two years she worked under Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, it was that he never forgot anything, ever. Or 2. He was breaking his promise to not call her in, which, like never forgetting anything ever, he also never broke his promises. He might need her, but if it was a dead body, it could wait for a little while. At least long enough for her to allow her to remember the vows she took some seven years ago were still very important to her. She must never forget.

While she loved the National Holocaust Museum, she sometimes dreaded the exhibits for the feelings they would invoke in her. She grew up hearing of stories of the Holocaust from elder family members, neighbors and friends. Once, when she was seven, she asked their next door neighbor in Haifa, Mrs. Rosen, why she had numbers on her arm. Ziva's mother had been horrified, but Mrs. Rosen drew little Ziva into her lap and explained how she had been taken to a Very Bad Place by Very Bad Men and that, because there were so many people there that the Very Bad Men in Charge couldn't remember all their names, well, they just gave them all numbers instead. Contented with the simple explanation that her young mind could handle at the time, little Ziva slid off her nice neighbor's lap and continued to play in the garden. It was years later that Ziva had learned that kindly Mrs. Rosen, that always had a soft lap to sit on, an inexhaustible treasure trove of stories to tell and usually some fresh baked cookies (Ziva loved her cinnamon sugar balls best) and sun tea or lemonade to enjoy while listening to those stories, had been a prisoner at Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. The knowledge made her stomach cramp painfully, even after all this time.

Ziva's hand automatically clenched around the tissue in her pocket. She had been through most of the exhibits already and had watched a survivor film that she never had seen before. It had held her spellbound, yet completely horrified at the capacity that humanity had for cruelty toward each other. It took her a few minutes after the film ended for her to sit there and process all the information and regain complete control of herself before getting up and moving on to a few last exhibits. 

But, this room, this place was always her last stop before leaving. She made the mistake of going in this room early in her very first tour and regretted it severely. After this room, she couldn't emotionally handle the rest of the museum and was forced to leave. It was said that that room tended to deeply affect many visitors that pass through it.

With another deep, steadying breath, she pushed the door open and the aroma is what hit her first-old leather; worn, well loved leather. She breathed it in and forced herself to open her eyes. She stood in a central aisle and to either side of her were shoes. Not just a pair or two or even as many as you'd find at a shoe store chain you'd find in any mall. No, this was different; very, very different. They were not stacked neatly on shelves, peeking merrily out of bright colored cardboard boxes. That would be too ordered, too sane a thing. The insanity of cruelty almost beyond human comprehension ruled this room. These shoes, shoes that once were purchased and worn by human beings, were haphazardly tossed up into piles as they had once been when they were taken away from those people to be tossed in a pile to be picked over by Nazi soldiers.

Ziva, though fine of bone and slight of build, was not a small woman in height. Her drivers' license said she was 5'7” and, had the glass walls not held the shoes back from the walkway, she'd be hip deep in them. She tentatively stepped into the room even further and began to absorb the exhibit. There were mens' shoes and womens' shoes, all different sizes and styles. She could see wing tips and work boots, high heels for going to a party and low heeled, sensible shoes for a woman at work. Then there were smaller shoes that belonged to children. She spied a little pair of once bright red Mary Janes that could have only belonged to, perhaps a toddler. Maybe they were her first party shoes. Ziva felt a tear slip from her eye as she thought about who that little girl might have been and who she could have possibly grown up to be. The very presence of the shoes told Ziva that that child was long dead, possibly gassed to death, still desperately clinging to her mother and crying, not understanding what was happening to her. It was hard enough for the adults to fathom what was going on. How could a little baby like that understand? Ziva tore herself away from the party shoes and began to read the information about the exhibit. As she read the information at intervals, she made her way through the room. By the time she made it out the other side, she was crying silently, tears running down her cheeks as fast as she could wipe them away. A kind verger gave her a sympathetic smile and another tissue to replace the one she had soaked through before she made it halfway through the exhibit. Ziva took it and gave her a nod before entering the Ladies' Room a little further down the hall to splash some cold water on her face.

Exiting the Ladies' Room, she entered the Gift Shop to peruse the books, buying a new one, a companion book to the exhibit and lecture that was coming early in March of the next year of which she was planning to attend. She went into the cafeteria and got herself an egg salad on pumpernickel, a soft drink and some apple sauce and sat down to eat her lunch and begin to read the book. She was almost on chapter two and halfway finished with her lunch when she remembered that she had turned her phone off. She took it out of her pocket and turned it back on, seeing, with a shock, that there were no less than ten more messages and eight of them from Gibbs. McGee and Tony had left almost a dozen texts between them. 

Something must be very wrong for that much of a fuss to be made to contact her on her day off. Tony and McGee, she could understand. They had no idea why she was having a day off, but Gibbs? Gibbs knew why she was off and why it was important to her and why it was so very personal. For Gibbs to leave eight voicemails, it must be bad. She began to play the voicemails back and the last one was from Gibbs and, while he sounded angry, no, furious with her, he did his best to understand, yet, by tone of voice, failed miserably. Wrapping the rest of her sandwich in a napkin, scarfing the last of her apple sauce down and grabbing her beverage, she hurried back out to her car, turning up the collar of her royal blue coat and headed off to the scene.

 

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Ziva screeched to a halt at the curb and climbed out of her Mini Cooper as fast as she could, wiping a small smear of egg salad from the side of her mouth from her hastily inhaled second half of her sandwich. Still inwardly fuming on being interrupted on a very personal day off, she headed directly over to Gibbs.

Gibbs looked up, hearing a car screech to a stop and his Mossad Liaison Officer hurry out and move swiftly in his direction. She was clearly pissed and he didn't blame her one bit. He stood and jerked his head toward the MCRT truck. He waited until she stood next to him, beginning to shed her regular coat for her crime scene jacket before he spoke. “You broke Rule 3, Ziver.”

Her head snapped up, fire flashing in her eyes. “And you very well know why, Gibbs. You promised you would not call me in and now you did. I was not simply taking a day at the spa-”

“Yeah, I know,” Gibbs said softly. He truly felt bad at interrupting her very personal day. He understood the importance of her marking this anniversary. If she did not have this anniversary to mark, then she would never have met Director Shepard and never have been brought into all of their lives. “Did you at least make it through the museum?”

She gave him an irritated look. “Barely. I had to turn my phone off because it was disturbing the other visitors,” she growled, twisting her long hair up into her cap. “You know what this day is.”

“I know and if it didn't involve something you're the expert on this team in, then I would have let you be,” he replied in the closest thing to an apology as she was going to get out of the retired Gunnery Sergeant. “Let me know what I can do to make it up to you once we close this case.”

She nodded once at him, her earlier irritation and ire now giving way to intense curiosity. She had many skills and several of them no one, not even Gibbs, could match her on. “I will. Now what do you need my “expertise” so desperately for?”

Gibbs stepped away from her. “C'mon, it'll be easier for you to see than for me to say.”

Hefting her backpack, Ziva proceeded to follow Gibbs beyond the yellow tape where McGee was taking photographs and Tony was collecting evidence. Looking at the mangled body on the ground, uniform and insignia on his sleeve cuffs, she gasped in shock. It was blatantly obvious to her what kind of crime this was. Gibbs was right, this was something she knew all too well. He had been right to call her in. Squelching a small sensation of guilt for her earlier annoyance and anger, she looked to Gibbs and raised her eyebrows.

“Navy Chaplain, Rabbi Jerome Goldenberg. You can see what happened,” Gibbs said plainly.

Again, she nodded, taking it all in. The Navy Chaplain was rolled beneath a tree and nearly beaten to a pulp. Pinned to his body was a simple piece of paper with one simple word written on it- 'Jude'. His left sleeve had been rolled up and someone had used a permanent marker to scrawl a series of numbers on the inside of his forearm. She shuddered. “You are right. This is definitely something I know about.”

Tony had watched Gibbs and Ziva approach, her take in the scene, pale slightly and then lock down her formidable self control. In those brief moments before her iron will clanged into place, he saw the hurt cross her eyes, followed by a look of volcanic anger that he hoped he never found directed at himself.

McGee put his camera down and looked toward his newly arrived teammate. “Got any ideas?”

Ziva shook her head. “Not really, other than this is, quite obviously, a hate crime. Since Hamas and Al-Qaeda prefer bombings and not beatings, nor do they write numbers on their target's forearms nor leave notes on their victims, let alone in a European language, that rules them out. This is too personal physically violent for them. They'd rather blow targets up or snipe from a distance.”

“How can you tell?” Tony asked, looking up from his crime scene sketch.

Ziva gave an eloquent shrug. “If it was Al Queda, specifically or any other of the Muslim extremist groups, if they would have left any note on their target, it would be in Arabic, not German. And,” she continued to explain, squatting down by the body, “they prefer explosives to fists.”

“Could it be some home grown terrorist cell?” McGee questioned further.

“I do not know. I do not know your hate groups here.” She replied as something wholly unpleasant and hideously familiar tickled in her memory. Her stomach churned slightly. They did use German. The numbers would not be too far of a stretch for that particular group.

Something had been itching in the back of Tony's brain since they first came on the scene. It finally smacked him square in the head. “KKK!” he blurted.

Ziva threw him an annoyed look for breaking her concentration with such an innane outburst. “It is not okay and you did not have to say it three times.”

“No, Ziva, not “okay, okay, okay”, the KKK, the Ku Klux Klan! They're a home grown hate group that formed in the South after the Civil War. They hate African Americans, Catholics, Hispanics, and sorry, Jews,” Tony explained. Ziva snorted in disgust.

“So, basically everyone that isn't you or Gibbs,” McGee said.

“No, McMistake, just Gibbs. I'm Catholic and Italian. They hate me, too.” Tony began pacing. “The beating makes sense, but not the note. The Chaplain's name wasn't Jude. Maybe it isn't them. I mean, they're more into lynching and cross burning. And he's a Chaplain, for Crissake. Generally, the KKK leaves men of the cloth alone, no matter what faith. They might call him names and maybe spit on him, but this is a little too far, even for them and they're pretty vile.”

“How do you know all that stuff, Agent DiNozzo?” Jimmy Palmer asked, carrying the things that he and Doctor Mallard would need to examine the body. He knelt down and began to unpack before Dr. Mallard could tell him to.

McGee took it upon himself to answer before Tony could weasel his way out of it. “His dad is a big Civil War nut and he used to drag Tony to re-enactments all the time when he was a kid. They used make him carry a pail for the guys on the lines to relieve themselves in so they wouldn't have to use the port-o-potties during the battle. Isn't that right, Poo Boy?” Tim grinned to himself. Revenge was sweet. It was small and a bit petty, but he'd take it.

Kneeling by the body, Dr. Mallard burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear boy, I don't mean to laugh at your discomfort, but....I can't help it.”

Tony turned a gaze on McGee that promised a full, painful and hideous payback in the future. “Thank you for that McSnitchalot.”

McGee's grin was his only answer.

Gibbs stepped back over to his team. “Duck, what's the hold-up?”

Ducky sobered quickly. Although he was quite a bit older than Gibbs, he still wished to show the Agent the utmost respect. “I am sorry, Jethro, Anthony was just posing a possible theory on whom has done this terrible deed and the explanation of where he came by this knowledge was quite comical. American Civil War.”

“Oh, Poo Boy”, Gibbs swung his steely gaze over to Tony as Ducky and Palmer continued to examine the body. “Well, DiNozzo? What's the theory?”

Tony shook his head and explained his theory, remarking on the inconsistencies between the Chaplain's beating and his hate group of choice.

“But it looks like Ziva is working on her own theory, Boss,” Tony offered.

Gibbs eyed his Liaison Officer. She was lost in thought, standing completely still, eyes cast downward, as if she was contemplating the grass. “Ziva? Got anything?”

She blinked hard and looked up at him. “Not just yet. I will need to do some research when we get back to see if what I suspect bears any vegetables.”

“That's fruit, Ziva,” McGee corrected in a very gentle voice. “Bears fruit is the idiom. Is it interesting?”

“It could be,” she said, returning to her thoughts.

“Jethro, Chaplain Goldenberg died approximately 12 to 14 hours ago.” Ducky said, removing the liver probe. “Mr. Palmer, the bag and gurney, please. There's nothing more I can do here.”

“Yes, Doctor.”


	2. Chapter 2

_**Yahrzeit** _

_**Chapter 2** _

  
  


  
  


It had been well over two hours since they had returned from the crime scene. Ducky and Palmer were hard at work in Autopsy, McGee was chasing down financials on their dead Chaplain, Ziva was chasing down whatever information that supported her theory that she did not deign to share with them just yet, and Tony was delving into the man's service record and personal life. Gibbs had gone on a coffee run.

  
  


DiNozzo stretched, letting out a series of loud, squeaky, irritating noises, earning him a mild glare from McGee. “Man, my eyes are fried! I gotta take a break.”

  
  


“If you're going to the break room, get me a Nutter Butter,” McGee tossed over his shoulder, eyes still intent on his monitor.

  
  


“Get your own, McGoo,” Getting up and moving away from his desk, Tony stopped and watched his partner. She appeared to be in deep concentration, a frown creasing her forehead. What he could see of her dark chocolate orbs seemed to be shadowed with a mixture of sadness and horror. Curiosity overcoming his better judgment, he walked around her desk to stand behind her. He leaned over into her personal space, fully expecting some sort of physical retribution. Surprisingly, none came. She was obviously deep in concentration. “Anything good, Zee-vah?”

  
  


She startled slightly, a clear indication of her being in some sort of unsettled state. She was too stunned at the information she found to bother being annoyed with either herself or DiNozzo. “No, not good; very bad, actually.”

  
  


He leaned in closer, concern replacing his earlier curiosity. He peered at her screen, eyes widening in utter disbelief. “You gotta be kidding,” he breathed.

  
  


“I wish I were,” she replied with equal horrified softness, then elbowed him in the stomach. “I am not ready with my theory just yet.”

  
  


He leaned back, rubbing his midsection. “How can you read all that? I'd be throwing things at my monitor, or just throwing up.”

  
  


She sighed and rubbed her eyes a bit before replying, “I just can, Tony. Remember where I grew up. It is no worse than anything that I have already heard or read. It is disgusting, but if we want to catch the guy or guys, since these vermin tend to travel in packs, like hyenas, I need to either prove or disprove my theory. If you are still are going into the break room, can you get me a bag of cheese curls?”

  
  


Tony looked at her. “Don't you eat healthy?”

  
  


She spared him a glance. “I like cheese curls when I am stressed. I am stressed. This,” she gestured at her screen, “this makes me stressed. Get me cheese curls; the hot ones. Now.”

  
  


He backed away from her and left for the break room. Returning a few minutes later, he tossed the bag on her desk.

  
  


“I owe you-”

  
  


“A non-stressed smile.”

  
  


The elevator dinged and Gibbs strode out, coffee in hand. “Whaddaya got?”

  
  


“Boss, the Chaplain is squeaky clean. Excellent credit history and pays his bills on time,” McGee reported, bringing the Chaplain's service photo on the plasma. “Bought a house 15 years ago, which is nearly paid off.”

  
  


“He's been married to his wife, Rachel, an elementary school science teacher, for the last 18 years. She's taught at that school for the last 13,” Tony said. “They have three kids. Ruth, 16, Aaron, 13 and Ariela, 9. By all appearances, a normal, happy family.”

  
  


“Appearances can be deceiving; Ziva?”

  
  


Ziva looked up from her screen, hand in the bag of cheese curls despite the roiling in her stomach. Somehow the fiery food helped calm it. “In a minute, Gibbs. I am waiting on a website before I can share.”

  
  


“Anything right now?” he asked.

  
  


She thoughtfully crunched a cheese curl. “I am beginning to form a theory. One I am not pleased with at all. In fact, I am hoping that I am very wrong because this could be a very.....ugly thing if I am right. In fact, it may be beyond NCIS's jurisdiction.”

  
  


Gibbs watched, very intrigued, as she popped another electric red cheese curl in her mouth, not liking what she just said. “Let's hear it.”

  
  


Rising from her desk, she wiped her hand on a tissue to rid it of the unnatural electric red cheesy dust and grabbed the clicker, popping up the website of a local hate group. “Arlington, Virginia Neo-Nazi group. It is not based far from here, Gibbs. I would begin with them. The Chaplain was a Rabbi and-”

  
  


“Nazis hate Jews,” Tony finished for her. His stomach flipped, fearing how this whole investigation might affect his partner. He knew that it would be difficult at best. “That's a powerful supposition.”

  
  


“Not just Jews, but Catholics and African Americans as well a anyone they feel is inferior to them, but they particularly hate Jews. I would not have thought to even look for them if not for the note reading “Jude” or the numbers on his forearm. Jude is German for Jew and it is what the Nazis scrawled across all Jewish owned businesses in Germany in the 30's and the very first years of the 40's. I do not think I need to expound on the numbers on his arm. Ducky already did while getting the Chaplain ready for transport; concentration camp, even though our Naval Officer is far too young to have ever been in one. I cannot but agree. Like I said, it is a theory,” Ziva said, palms sweating. She wiped them on her charcoal gray cargo pants. Her stomach flipped again and she swallowed hard. Maybe those flaming hot cheese curls weren't such a good idea. They weren't settling her stomach like she thought they would.

  
  


“It's a good one, David,” Gibbs said as his phone rang. “Keep up with this angle.” He opened the phone, listened for a moment. “I'll be in Autopsy.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Gibbs strode into Autopsy, still mulling over what Ziva had brought up in the bull pen just minutes ago. Her theory was sound with the evidence they already had. However, it made him sick to his stomach just to think about it. He had had experience with prejudice back in his hometown of Stillwater, Pennsylvania, but nothing like what Ziva proposed or had experienced in her short life. His? Just miners against the rich townies that owned the mines. He'd been beat up a couple of times while he was growing up because his father had worked in the mines before making enough money to buy the house his dad still owned and pooling his money with his best friend to buy the general store. Gibbs shoved it away for later and focused his attention on the M.E. and his assistant. “Whaddaya got, Duck?”

  
  


The gentle medical examiner shut his back door that lead directly outside and looked up at him. “Ah, Jethro, just in time. You did just miss my Rabbi friend that I called in for the autopsy. They are generally not done in the case of Orthodox Jews, but since this poor man was Navy, I needed to. Allowances can and are made for that sort of thing. I would have called his wife, but, alas, she was unavailable. Testing, the school said. My dear friend, Rabbi Levin, observed and he just left. Rabbi Levin informed me that the family will need the body back before sundown tomorrow and I shall need to allow in the women from Rabbi Goldenberg's temple to cleanse his body before then. I assured him that we could house the remains until Sunday, if need be.”

  
  


Gibbs was out of his element. He knew there were rules and observances, but was not familiar with them. Might as well learn. “That really necessary?” He asked.

  
  


The Medical Examiner nodded while Palmer cleaned the Rabbi for his time in the cooler. “Yes, it is. We must endeavor to honor his religious customs. Many religions take the state of the soul very seriously, particularly after death. He is Jewish and the state of the body directly affects the state of the soul. This is why I had my friend in. I made certain that I did nothing that put Rabbi Goldenberg's soul in jeopardy, yet helped our investigation on who could have done such a thing to him. Since he is obviously Jewish, you may wish to query our Officer David on customs so we may handle the Chaplain's body with the utmost respect,” Ducky began. He gestured to the body on the slab. “Meet Navy Lt. Chaplain Rabbi Jerome Goldenberg. As you can see, he was beaten to death. There are no stab wounds nor was he shot. The animals that did this-”

  
  


“Animals, Duck? I thought you said that he was beaten, not eaten or mauled.”

  
  


“Jethro, I would not call something that so savagely ravaged this poor man, human,” Ducky defended. When Gibbs said nothing, he continued. “But, to the injuries. All four limbs were broken, and systematically, I might add. There are severe and multiple contusions all across his torso. His liver and spleen are severely damaged, both kidneys ruptured, eight broken ribs, two punctured lungs and that is before I even had gotten to his head. If the rest of his injuries would not have done him in, and they most certainly would have, his skull was beaten in, resulting in inter cranial hemorrhaging, which ultimately, killed him.”

  
  


Gibbs took it all in, looking at his medical examiner. “How many attackers, Duck?”

  
  


“Hard to say. Mr. Palmer, would you take all our findings up to Abigail? Perhaps she will have the answer to that,” Ducky said.

  
  


Jimmy grabbed the containers of evidence. “Right away, Doctor Mallard.”

  
  


Ducky waited until Palmer left, the Autopsy door hissing shut behind him before speaking in a very hushed tone that did nothing to hide his disquiet. “Jethro, this is clearly a case of extreme hatred bordering on the pathological. The note pinned to him and the numbers in marker on his left arm show that very clearly. If this is a group act, and from the sheer number and severity of the injuries, I'd be surprised if it wasn't, this is a group of people that hold a veritable credo of belief and attitude; so much so that they may act in a hive mind mentality, or they certainly did in this case. Be careful, Jethro. I would suspect a Neo-Nazi group and they can be...they can....they have a credo that will be extremely difficult to handle, Jethro. I don't think this is a one time thing. This may just be the first of it's kind we may see before you catch and cage these animals.”

  
  


“We will, Duck.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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“DiNozzo, McGee, go talk to the Chaplain's wife,” Gibbs said, returning to the bullpen and having a seat at his desk.

  
  


“On it, Boss,” Tony said as he rose from his desk, clipping his badge on and firearm in place.

  
  


“No.”

  
  


All three mens' heads swerved to Ziva. Gibbs spoke. “No? Why not?”

  
  


“I will go with either McGee or Tony. They will not-” Ziva began.

  
  


Tony cut her off. “Come on, it's not like we don't do this kind of thing every day. She's a Navy wife, Ziva. I think we can handle a Navy wife.”

  
  


She bristled. “She is a Rabbi's wife, Tony. That is different. You do not know many of the customs.”

  
  


Gibbs spoke up, remembering his talk with Ducky, before it blew up into a full on argument. “Ziva's right, DiNozzo. Take her instead. McGee, you pick up where Ziva left off on those Nazi groups. See what you can find.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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“I still don't get what's going to be so hard about talking to Mrs. Goldenberg,” Tony said as they drove the last few miles through the Navy housing. “I mean, besides the obvious. It's never easy to tell someone that their loved one was killed.”

  
  


Ziva spared a glance at him as she took in the Rabbi's house. “I know. I did not say that it was not going to be hard. I said that it would be different. What makes this different is that she is the wife of a Rabbi. You do not know the customs in a devout family. No offense, Tony.”

  
  


“None taken, I think.” Tony said, his curiosity piqued. “So what's the difference?”

  
  


“The house will be devout, most likely Orthodox of some kind, but definitely not Hassidic,” she explained, leaning back in her seat once again.

  
  


“What's the difference between all of that? I mean, devout is devout, right?” Tony asked, pulling up in front of a modest two story colonial style home. The lawn was well manicured, neat and tidy. Despite knowing that there were three children living in the home, there was not a toy visible.

  
  


Ziva let out a soft sigh in preparation of the basic explanation. “No, not here. There are different levels of observance. To be Hassidic, or of the Hassadim, would not work in the Navy, or any branch of the U.S. Military because of many factors, one of which is a very strict code of observance. Think of them as the Jewish version of Amish, to be simple about it. Even a Chaplain needs to go through basic training and may actually see combat. Orthodox is slightly more relaxed, but hold many of the same customs. Since our Chaplain does not sport a beard, yet wears the Tallit Kazan, it is a prayer undershirt, yet he tucked his tzitzit in, is telling me that he is Orthodox at home, yet endeavors to fit in with the military. I can surmise that they are most likely some kind of Orthodox that is personally tailored to allow him to serve in the Navy.” She looked at him, taking in his confusion. “It is a minefield sometimes.”

  
  


“What are the tzitzit?” He asked.

  
  


She smiled at her partner in his obvious attempt to understand something so foreign to him. “They are the strings that hang from the prayer shirt. You do not need to know what they mean. He tucked them in.”

  
  


“What are you?” he asked of his partner. He had known since they first met that she was Jewish and wore a Star of David necklace, but not exactly how devout she actually was.

  
  


“Me? I am Mossad and, therefore, different,” was all she said as she opened the car door and got out. “I will tell you later, perhaps. On this you will need to follow my lead, Tony.”

  
  


He suddenly felt like he was swimming in the deep end with Kosher sharks circling him and he was the brisket. “Lead the way, Officer David.”

  
  


She gave him a tight, fleeting smile before squaring her shoulders and striding up the walkway. Tony could almost see a kind of mantle fall and rest on her shoulders and he wondered how many times she had to do this very thing when she served in Israel. He hurried to catch up to her.

  
  


Ziva gestured to him to knock. “You are Senior Field Agent. Go ahead.”

  
  


Tony rang the doorbell. There was a sound of someone approaching. A woman opened the inside door and stood looking out at them. She did not unlatch the screen door. “Can I help you?”

  
  


Tony held up his badge. “Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS and this is my partner, Officer David. May we speak with you ma'am?”

  
  


She peered carefully at Tony's identification. Being a Navy wife, she knew exactly what NCIS was and what they did. She unlatched the screen door and held it open. “Please come in. This is about Jerry, isn't it?”

  
  


“I'm afraid so,” Tony said, holding the door for Ziva. She passed him, stopping only to kiss the tips of her right hand fingers and brushing them across a small silver cylinder mounted in the doorway, before entering the home. He made a mental note to ask her about it later.

  
  


Rebecca Goldenberg was a small woman, barely 5' 3” in height with a plump figure that spoke of childbearing and excellent cooking. She had dark brown to black bangs peeking out from under her dark navy blue beret, which hid the rest of her hair. Her deep brown eyes hid behind rimless spectacles. She wore a soft pink, long sleeved blouse and a navy skirt that fell to just above her slippered feet. Around her neck hung a delicate Star of David, much like Ziva's.

  
  


Rebecca, even knowing what these NCIS folks were there about, refused to let her hospitality lapse. Making a small gesture for them to sit, she entered her kitchen, returning shortly with a couple of glasses of water and a plate of pastries. She placed it all on the coffee table and gestured to them. Seeing that Tony was still standing, she said, “Please sit and have a nosh.”

  
  


Tony sat and was about to decline the refreshments when Ziva reached forward, picking up a glass and a piece of pastry. “Thank you, Mrs. Goldenberg.” She elbowed Tony, indicating that he needed to follow suit.

  
  


He copied her exactly, picking up a cookie and a glass of water. He chewed on a bite of the cookie as Mrs. Goldenberg spoke. “You found my Jerry. I know if NCIS is involved this is bad. How bad, Agent DiNozzo?”

  
  


Tony briefly glanced at Ziva. She gave him the barest of nods. “We're sorry, ma'am.”

  
  


Rebecca looked down, breathing deeply. “I see. To be truthful, I was almost afraid of this when he didn't come home last night, despite the fact that it hadn't been the first night he has slept in the office rather than come in so late and wake me.”

  
  


“We understand,” Ziva said softly.

  
  


“How did it happen?”

  
  


“Our medical examiner said that he was beaten to death....and yes, there was a Rabbi present the whole time he was autopsied. Your husband was treated with respect,” Ziva said softly. “You can arrange for the Shomer to attend now and the Chevra Kadisha at any time once your husband's body is released. I am sorry that I cannot be more specific, but this is a federal investigation.”

  
  


“I understand, Officer David. You're not Metro P.D., are you?”

  
  


Ziva shook her head. “No, I am not. But I am with NCIS and I do understand the customs. All you need do is but ask.”

  
  


Rebecca ghosted her a half smile in appreciation. “Thank you.”

  
  


Ziva nudged Tony so he could continue questioning the grieving widow and stop staring at her like she had grown something interesting in the middle of her forehead. “Mrs. Goldenberg, did your husband have any difficulties or issues with anyone?”

  
  


Rebecca let out a small, mirthless laugh. “Of course he did. We are Jewish. Somewhere, somehow, you will always run across those that take an exception to what you are simply because you are. But in the Chaplains' Corp, no. They all were clergy. Jerry got along with them all. No, no issues with the Chaplains' Corp. The rest of them....well, I'd tell you to ask Jerry, but that's out of the question now. You might try talking to Rabbi Joseph Feinstein. Jerry and he have been best friends since Basic. They share the Temple services right on the Navy Yard. Now if you will...”

  
  


“Of course,” Tony said, rising and placing his plate and glass on the table. Ziva mirrored him. “We're very sorry for your loss.”

  
  


Ziva gave her a soft, sympathetic look, “Ani mitzta'eret.”

  
  


“Toda,” Rebecca nodded and followed them to the door, ushering them out.

  
  


Once the door was shut, Tony turned to Ziva. “What was all of that?” He asked as they walked back to the car.

  
  


“I told her that I was sorry. She is Orthodox. She speaks some Hebrew.” She got in and waited for him to do the same. “What else do you want to know?”

  
  


“Okay, first, what was with the snacks if she knew we were there for bad news?”

  
  


“Politeness,” Ziva supplied. “Tradition and hospitality. It is average for Orthodox families. It is not just for Orthodox families. I will wager that your Italian grandmother did the same.”

  
  


“She did! I could never go to Nonna DiNozzo's without her giving me a glass of whatever and making me something to eat,” Tony said as he navigated the car back to the Navy Yard.

  
  


“Meaning that you were Orthodox at one time?” Tony asked, fascinated at this tidbit about his very private partner.

  
  


Ziva squirmed a bit. “I was raised Orthodox. That all ended when I entered Mossad. Actually, before, when I served in the military, but completely when I entered Mossad. I will explain another time, Tony. It is complicated.”

  
  


He nodded. “So what about all that other stuff? Like, what was that silver thing in the doorway and why did you kiss it?”

  
  


She gave him a soft smile. “That was a mezzuza and it holds a copy of the Torah in it. I kissed it because it holds the word of G-d. The rest, well, a Shomer is someone that sits with the body and watches over it until burial and the Chevra Kadisha are a group of men or women that wash and prepare the body for burial in accordance to the Torah. Anything else?”

  
  


“Nope. I guess we go tell Gibbs what we know and then see when we can see Rabbi Feinstein.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISCISNCISNCISNCISCNCINCISNCISNCISNCIS

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Whaddaya got, Abs?” Gibbs asked, sliding a huge container of Caf-Pow under Abby's nose.

  
  


“I'm so glad you're here, Gibbs! I have something for you!” Abby replied, giving Gibbs a hug and taking a large sip of her drink. “Okay, Ducky said that the Rabbi was beaten to death. He was. What I found was several imprints of boots on his back and chest and traces of motor oil on his uniform jacket. I tested the motor oil and Major Mass Spec says it's a particular grade only used by the armed forces for military vehicles, like jeeps and hummers. Aircraft and watercraft oils are different in composition.” She turned very troubled green eyes to him. “Gibbs, I think your killers are servicemen, Navy or Marine, most likely.” She tapped her keyboard and pictures of the shoe prints flashed up on the screen. “The prints are those of a military issue combat boot, again, probably Navy or Marine. I found five different prints from five different sets of boots. I don't like this; not one little bit. Why would they attack one of their own, especially clergy?”

  
  


Gibbs kissed her temple. “I don't know yet, Abs. Anything else?”

  
  


She shook her head, pigtails whipping. “Not yet. I'll call you if I get anything else. And Gibbs, get these guys.”

  
  


“Oh, we will. I can promise you that.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISCISNCISNCISNCISCNCINCISNCISNCISNCIS

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Anything from the wife?” Gibbs asked, returning to the bull pen.

  
  


“Not much, boss. She said that she didn't know of anyone in particular and to talk to Chaplain Rabbi Feinstein here on the Navy Yard,” Tony said. He nodded at his partner. “Ziva is setting that up right now.”

  
  


Gibbs took a long pull of his coffee. “She say anything else?”

  
  


“Just that it could have been anybody,” Tony replied, rolling the wife's statement over in his head. “She seemed almost resigned to it; like she expected it, somehow. Think she could be involved?”

  
  


“I doubt it, but check it out,” the retired Marine suggested. “McGee, anything more on that hate group?”

  
  


“Oh, boy, Boss, you bet,” McGee said, clicking his findings up on the big screen. “This is the Arlington chapter of the Neo-Nazis that Ziva started looking at. On the surface it looks like any other hate site stating who they are and who they don't like and why. Most of the other sites I looked at were about the same, just writing styles differed along with vocabulary, but the rhetoric was about the same. This one, White Arlington Now, goes further.” He clicked again and there was a zoom in on a paragraph. “They seem to have a particular problem with just who is accepted to serve in the military.”

  
  


“ 'We will wipe all the blacks, Catholics, homosexuals, all inferior races and, especially, the Jews, out of our country's service, one at a time if we have to. Our country should not be defended by the racially impure. Whites only! No inferior race should defend our mothers, wives, sisters and daughters. Death to the Jews!' ” Tony read out loud and then shuddered, acutely aware of his partner's faith after that afternoon, and, to a lesser extent, his own Catholic upbringing. “They just don't like anybody, do they?”

  
  


“Nope,” Gibbs said as Ziva joined them.

  
  


“Rabbi Feinstein will see us at 0900 tomorrow,” she said, her eyes running over the highlighted quote. She sighed and that world weary sound gave a clear insight into everything that had been going on inside her since earlier that day. “It will not be easy.”

  
  


Gibbs nodded, “Nope. McGee, run local Marines and Navy for anyone that might be involved in any way. Abby found evidence that says we just might have a bigger problem on our hands.” He glanced at his watch. “Do it in the morning. It's already 2130. Go home. Be back at 0700.” Gibbs waited until both McGee and DiNozzo had already made their way to the elevator. He gave a measuring look at the young Israeli. She looked very troubled. “Ziva, you okay?”

  
  


She gazed at him with her dark eyes full of sadness. “I am fine, Gibbs. I have seen this before and I do not think that this is the last time I will see it. I am bothered, yes. But, it is nothing new to me.”

  
  


He wasn't completely convinced, but she had proven to him and everyone else time and time again how resilient she actually was.“You sure?”

  
  


Ziva gave him a soft, sad smile. “I am sure.”

  
  


“Then get some rest so we can get these guys.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Yahrzeit** _

_**chapter 3** _

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


Ziva opened her apartment door on the third knock. She was dressed in black yoga pants and an old olive and gold IDF t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “Hello, Tony.”

  
  


Tony gave her his brightest smile, hoping to bring one out in her. He held a bag of food up in one hand and a cloth bag with a drawstring in the other. “Hi. I thought you might like a little carry out tonight; and I brought wine.”

  
  


She gave him a little smile. In the slightly over two years they had known each other, she had become very fond of him, when he wasn't irritating her. Ziva had discovered, especially in the time that Gibbs had retired and Tony became team leader, that, while he could be childish and abrasive, he did have a very soft and gentle side and he could be very caring. Since then, he had regularly shown up on her doorstep with pizza and a movie, or she would invite him over, cooking dinner for them both. Usually, they retired to sit on her balcony and sip wine and just talk. Sometimes he even brought a movie or two and school her on American cinema. She made protests, but enjoyed every minute of it. He had become very dear to her. “Come in, then. What have you brought?”

  
  


“A little falafel for you and a little shawerma for me and a couple of bottles of wine...from Israel,” he said, entering her home. “I forgot what today was for you. And I wanted to help you celebrate your birthday next Monday, but maybe we start just a little tonight. I'm sorry about today. I thought that, maybe, we could eat a little and talk a little and maybe you'd feel a little better. I know this case is really beginning to bug you.”

  
  


She took the bags from his hands. “This was not necessary, but I appreciate this very much. Thank you.”

  
  


Tony's smile widened. “No problem,” he said, following her into the kitchen. He pulled out the wine glasses while she plated the food. “I made sure to go to that place you like so much.”

  
  


She looked over at him. “That is very out of your way from your place.”

  
  


“Not too bad from the Navy Yard or the Beverage Depot I got the wine from. Today was your anniversary of the day you joined Mossad. I remembered from last year. Besides, we still have to celebrate your birthday, even if it is a little early,” he said with a lopsided grin.

  
  


Ziva took the offered glass of wine and sipped. “Beverage Depot closes at nine and it is almost eleven.”

  
  


“Okay, so I bought the wine a few weeks back,” Tony defended. “Listen, I know this case must be bugging you. I just wanted to be a good partner.”

  
  


Ziva shook her head. “Not that I don't appreciate it, Tony, but I am fine. Like I said before; I have heard it all. I have heard it all by the time I was ten. This is nothing new.”

  
  


Tony regarded her as she took a bite out of her sandwich. “Still, it bugs you, right? Because it bugs me, a lot. I mean, I knew these groups existed, just never paid much attention to them. It's sick.”

  
  


“It is human prejudice and hatred and while it bothers me, like I have said, I have heard it all before. I grew up in a country where our own neighbors want us dead. My country could cease to exist in a heartbeat because of hatred and prejudice and ignorance. It disturbs me to find it so prevalent here, in America,” Ziva said, taking a large sip of her wine. Kosher wine, from Israel. For a moment she could see the sunny olive groves and grape vineyards of her childhood. She smiled a bit. “This is a taste of home. I thank you for that, Tony.”

  
  


He smiled back at her, sipping his own wine. It was sweet and delicate; not what he expected. “This is the taste of your home? Then I have a very different view of Israel.”

  
  


“You probably have the militaristic view. A lot of people do. The reason Israel was saved in it's early years was not solely because of our meager and very determined military at that time, but because of the Kibbutz. The communal farm. Agrarian life, yes? A lot like early America,” Ziva said, continuing to eat. A small look of peace came to rest in her eyes as she spoke. “Israel is, primarily, a desert country, but there are many areas where crops can be grown. The pioneers in Kibbutz lifestyle explored that and found that many things could be grown and that has helped sustain a nation. An army travels on it's stomach, yes?”

  
  


Tony took a long while to digest the information that Ziva supplied. He was both horrified and proud. His fiery teammate had lived through so much and was so strong and sure. He was proud to know her. He took another sip of his wine. “Tell me about the Kibbutz.”

  
  


“I really do not know. I have never lived on one,” Ziva said. “I will tell you about the orchards. At my father's house outside Tel Aviv there was this incredible olive orchard. My brother and I would climb the trees and drop the fresh olives down to each other. Did you know that you cannot eat a fresh olive? It must be cured, like pickling. So we would gather enough for Ima to cure. Then we would gorge ourselves on the fresh figs that grew amongst the olive trees. We always got a little sick at the first harvest, but they were so good. The vineyard was farther away. And Abba would never let us eat the fresh grapes because he said that they were wine grapes and not eating grapes. We ate them once and had a bad stomach ache. No more wine grapes. Just figs and olives....oh! And dates! The next neighbor over had date trees. Sweet as sugar right off the tree.” She sniffed slightly. “It makes me miss home just a little.”

  
  


“I'm sorry about that,” Tony said, chewing his grilled lamb. “But it sounds like you had some fun as a kid. I bet you had a lot of fun.”

  
  


She smiled softly. “I did. It was not all being blindfolded and dropped into the woods to find our way home, even if that really was fun. My best friend was an Arab boy named Amir. He was killed when we were twelve. A bombing. I still miss him and wonder who he would be today. Would he be Hamas or would he be pro-Israel? I hope the latter. I hold the time we spent raiding the dates and figs and olives and playing football, your soccer, so precious to me.”

  
  


Tony had to blink the tears from his eyes and take a sip of wine to clear his throat before he spoke. “He sounds like someone I would have wanted to meet. I'm sorry for your loss.”

  
  


“I miss Amir, yes, but I treasure the time we had together. We were best friends and had fun.” She barked a joyous laugh. “We were inseparable. He was the first person to teach me that I could care for someone so deeply outside my family. His death dealt me my first pain. It was not his fault. He was shopping with his mother when the bomb hit. An Israeli bomb. I bear that guilt. I did not kill my best friend and his mother, but my country did. I just hope that he and his mother forgive me.”

  
  


Tony put his food down and held Ziva's trembling hands. “I'm sure he does and I'm sure his mom does. You didn't order it or do it. You are a victim of it.”

  
  


“Do not say that! I am not a victim! I will never be a victim! I will....I will....!”

  
  


Tony was taken aback. “I's okay. I misspoke. I'm sorry if I upset you. You have so much good to hold on to. I wish I had known you then.”

  
  


Ziva shook her head, giving him a playful look. “No, you would have sucked trying to be Kosher; no pepperoni, bacon or sausage to go on your pizza.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISCISNCISNCISNCISCNCINCISNCISNCISNCIS

  
  


  
  


November 9, 2007

  
  


  
  


Tony glanced at Ziva as they walked over to the Chapel at the Navy Yard. She was quiet; quieter than normal. She looked nice that morning. She wore a knee length deep olive skirt, red blouse and a olive tweed blazer. Black pumps finished the look. Her perpetually curly hair was pulled off her face and secured in two barrettes right behind her ears. Over all of this she wore her dark charcoal calf length coat with red lining and a Mandarin collar.

  
  


Tony, himself, wore a charcoal gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a thin black tie. His jet black raincoat with light gray lining completed his outfit. He turned to his partner. “You want to take lead on this again today?” he asked, idly toying with the handkerchief in his left coat pocket.

  
  


Ziva blinked. She'd clearly been lost in thought. “Uhm, yes, if you do not mind.”

  
  


He smiled at her. “Nope. This is your wheelhouse here, Ziva. If we'd be taking to a Catholic priest, I'd want to do the talking. I wouldn't know how to begin talking to the Rabbi.”

  
  


“It is easy. He is a man, same as you. Just his line of work is spiritual and not law enforcement,” Ziva answered. She watched his face as the information was processed. He clearly had not thought about how to speak with him at all. She wondered why that was. “Clergy makes you uneasy. Why?”

  
  


“No it doesn't!” he protested too loudly and too quickly. “I mean they don't. So I haven't been to church in a while, that's all. It's not like we have every Sunday free so I can go to church, even if I had a church.”

  
  


A slow, playful smile ghosted across her lips. It wasn't often that her partner was so flustered. “How long?”

  
  


“A couple, maybe ten years. How about you? When was the last time you were in a synagogue?” he shot back.

  
  


“If you must know, last Saturday morning. That is why I was in in the afternoon and not morning. My friend's son was making his Bar Mitzvah. I went to the ceremony and Kiddish, or party, afterward,” she said, full of confidence. “It was long because the family is Orthodox and it was a special observance day and the Temple is Hassidic. It was a very long ceremony all in Hebrew. I felt......right at home.”

  
  


“Long? How long? Like an hour?” Tony asked as they walked up the Chapel stairs. He reached for the big brass door handle. “Two?”

  
  


“The ceremony began at 0800 and ended about 1200. I only stayed long enough at the Kiddish to give Yehuda his gift and have a little lunch.” Ziva said, stopping to look at Tony as he held the door open for her.

  
  


His eyebrows shot up and nearly touched his hairline is surprise. “Four hours?! The lunch better have been good.”

  
  


She grinned at him. “I nearly ate my weight in the salmon puffs. I gave you a few.”

  
  


“Those were delicious. I don't suppose you got the recipe?” Tony asked, remembering the cool, yet unbelievably flaky salmon pastries. “No, I guess not.”

  
  


“I will, eventually. Arline will tell me if I ask enough. You really liked them that much?” She asked, making a mental note to get the recipe the next time she talked to her friend.

  
  


“Oh, yeah.”

  
  


They walked in together and the nearly rainbow-like light coming in from the stained glass windows lit the air around them in a jewel toned haze. It was gentle and warm and comforting.

  
  


A middle aged man in a priests' cassock approached them. “Could I help you?” he asked in a gentle baritone.

  
  


“We're looking for Rabbi Feinstein,” Tony said. “We have an appointment with him.”

  
  


“Ah, you must be from NCIS. Joe is waiting for you in his office. I'm Father Robert Mundelein, USN. The boys just call me Father Bob,” he said as he lead them behind the altar and into the rectory portion of the chapel. “I heard about Jerry. It's terrible. He was such a kind and gentle man. He was proud to be serving in the Navy, too. Was he really beaten to death?”

  
  


Tony shook his head. “I'm sorry, Father, but we can't disclose any information on the case. I'm sure you understand. It's an ongoing investigation.”

  
  


Father Bob nodded. “I understand.” He knocked on the door before opening it. “Joe, NCIS is here.” He swung the door open.

  
  


Rabbi Joseph Feinstein stood, sweeping his arm out. “Come in, come in! Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  
  


With a slight glance at Ziva, who nodded, Tony gave the man his hand to shake. “I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and this is my partner, Officer David.”

  
  


“Welcome,” he said, shaking hands with both agents. “David? Jewish?”

  
  


Ziva nodded. “Yes, Rabbi.”

  
  


“Sit, please. Is there anything you need before we begin?” the Rabbi asked.

  
  


Tony sat on the right side of the large sofa and took in the Rabbi's appearance. He had the bearing of someone that spent a lifetime in the military, but his head was balding and what was left of his dark, curly locks had shots of silver through it. He had a bit of a hang dog expression to his face which was enhanced by his silvered mustache and beard. “No, thank you, Commander.”

  
  


“Rabbi, what can you tell us about Rabbi Goldenberg?” Ziva asked from her seat on the left side of the sofa.

  
  


Rabbi Feinstein shrugged. “What can I tell you? I've known Jerry since Basic. We were housed together since we were both going into the Chaplains' Corps. He was my best friend. He always had time for others. He worked too hard sometimes. So hard it is a wonder he had one child, let alone three! A good man, a good husband, father, and a good Rabbi and a good Naval Officer.”

  
  


“Rabbi, did he have any difficulties with anyone?” Tony asked.

  
  


“Difficulties? Who doesn't? But there are some in the military that aren't exactly fond of us serving,” he said with a shrug, as if it was obvious to everyone.

  
  


To Ziva, it was. “And how do they show this lack of fondness?” Ziva asked. At his guarded expression, she offered, “Do not think you can shock me. I grew up in Israel.”

  
  


He nodded at her in understanding. He had been to Israel many times over the years and had seen some things, some of them incredibly beautiful and others not so pleasant. “Then you know. Very well, sometimes it was just words, taunts. Things like 'Filthy Jew”, “Kike”, or nastier. Sometimes there were things left where only Jerry or I would notice them; sometimes far more public. Last Passover, I had a pig's head on the hood of my car. Jerry got the pig's blood all over his.”

  
  


“How did you deal with it?” Tony asked. He had noticed the look that passed between the Rabbi and Ziva. He didn't understand it, but, suddenly really wanted to. It was as if they had a silent conversation and he wanted to know what had been said. He made a mental note to ask her later.

  
  


“We did not need to. Father Bob was on his way back to his home as well. He walked out with us. He and a few of the others, mostly aspirants and altar boys cleaned our cars for us,” the Rabbi said. “He is a good friend. He was so angry for us.”

  
  


“How angry were the two of you?” Tony asked as Ziva shot him a glare that told him he should have been far more delicate about it.

  
  


“What my partner is asking, is if you felt that some sort of retribution was needed,” Ziva said, her tone very respectful and apologetic. Tony had never heard that tone from her before. “I am sorry, but it needs to be asked.”

  
  


The Rabbi nodded in understanding. “I know. Jerry and I were upset, yes, but more saddened that someone or someones felt they needed to do such a thing, especially here at the Navy Yard,” he replied. “Don't get me wrong. We were very angry as well. But, it's not the first time these things have happened to us. And especially not in the military. There are men and women that have pre-formed ideas before they even hit Basic. It's a fault in misconceptions that lead to stereotypes and hatred. You asked how we dealt with it? We both chose to make our joint Passover and Easter messages to focus on G-d's mercy as He sent His angels to pass over the homes of the children of Israel. We are human men and will get angry, Agent DiNozzo and Officer David. It is only natural. Did we do anything other than speak against it, no.”

  
  


“Rabbi, have any of those that have done these things to you ever been identified?” Ziva asked, her throat tight. She knew all about things like that. She knew and the memory of it made her sick.

  
  


\-- _ **Flashback--**_

  
  


  
  


**\-- _Ziva laughed as she watched her little sister, Tali, being splashed at the water table. Tali was eight and Ziva twelve. In part of her preparation for her Bat Mitzvah, she needed to volunteer some time at the Synagogue’s Day Care when all their parents would be at the service. She returned to setting up the crackers and juice for snack when the door opened and the Director of the Day Care came in and waved the teacher, her aide, and Ziva over._**

  
  


“ _ **I got a call from someone claiming to have put a bomb somewhere in the Day Care,” Mrs. Cohen said, quietly. “We need to get these children out of here and away from the building before the Bomb Disposal Unit gets here.”**_

  
  


_**Ziva tilted her head to the side and considered the information for a brief moment. She thought of the questions her father would ask her. She needed those answers to give him when he questioned her later. “But why a call and not just an explosion? Why the warning?”** _

  
  


_**Mrs. Cohen glanced at her. “Because we have two of the American and four British Embassies' children in the other rooms. At least that's what I can guess.”** _

  
  


_**Still, Ziva was unsettled. It shouldn't matter about the diplomat children. To the bombers, be they Hamas or any of the others, a Jew is a Jew is a Jew, and should be extinguished like a candle flame. Her father had said so time and again. She did, however, assist in getting the children to the snack table where their teacher told them that there would be a change in their schedule. Many of the little ones fretted. Schedule changes always were difficult. “And, so, today, because our parents have a longer service and the weather is so nice for Rosh Hashana, we will go on a nature walk before our snack!”** _

  
  


_**Tali turned her large brown eyes, so like Ziva's own, up to her sister. “Zivvie, why are we not having snack? We're supposed to have snack after free play; right after! We always have snack after free play. This is not right. What is wrong?”** _

  
  


_**Ziva knelt, already tall for her age, and took her baby sister's small, chubby hands in her larger, slender ones. “Tali, ahuva, we have a change, that is all. Would you like me to put some crackers in my pocket before we leave?”** _

  
  


_**Placated, Tali nodded and stuffed two juice boxes into her own pockets. She grinned up at her much idolized big sister. “One for you, too, Zivvie.”** _

  
  


_**Quickly, yet with a smile for her young sibling, Ziva got Tali into line and then took her own place at the end with the teacher, Miss Katz. She nodded at the teacher as they swiftly brought the children outside and on their “nature walk”. They headed down the street and around the other side of the synagogue as the bomb unit flew past them. Ziva handed Tali a couple of crackers from her pocket to distract her. They brought the children onto a quiet, tree lined side street and were examining the different leaves when the sound of a muffled explosion reached them. It was just as the service had ended. The adults and the young volunteers all exchanged knowing looks. Bomb.** _

  
  


_**Shoving her fear and worry deep inside herself, Ziva chatted lightly to the small ones about the leaves and what made them different from each other and what made them the same. It was nearly the end of the adults' Kiddish when Mrs. Cohen had appeared again, waving them over.** _

  
  


“ _ **There was a bomb,” she told them. “It exploded before they could disarm it. Thankfully, no one was in the building but the disposal unit. They are fine. The armor protected them.” Mrs. Cohen allowed them a few moments to utter hushed exclamations of gratitude to God. She continued before anyone could ask, “It was hidden in the janitor's closet across from your room, Olga.”**_

  
  


_**Olga Katz paled and swallowed harshly, throat clicking. “How bad would it have been?” she whispered.** _

  
  


“ _ **It would have killed everyone if your door had been open, adults and children alike,” Mrs. Cohen said softly.**_

  
  


_**Ziva felt her world begin to spin and felt faint. She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to focus. Her Abba would want answers and would ask how both his daughters had held up. It would not do to have him told that she had fainted when she and Tali were perfectly fine. Yet, she couldn't help but have those words echo in her head.....”It would have killed everyone....”--** _

  
  


_**\--End flashback--** _

  
  


  
  


Joseph shook his head. “No. Not individual names, but a group called White Arlington Now claimed responsibility, but no one came forward individually. There are rumors that they have members in the Marines and some in the Navy as well. I don't really know. I am a humble Rabbi and I cannot actively seek them out. This is not Israel and it isn't like I'm Mossad chasing Nazi war criminals.”

  
  


Ziva let a small smile play across her features. She hoped it helped to reassure him. “I think I can handle that part. I have...contacts.”

  
  


Joseph eyed her very warily, suddenly becoming aware of her surname. “David....David.....David. You wouldn't be related to the recently promoted Mossad Director Elijah David, would you?”

  
  


“It is a family name,” Ziva said and left it at that.

  
  


Before the horrid feeling in Tony's gut became overwhelmingly real, he stood, extending his hand toward the clergyman. “Thank you for all of your help, Rabbi Feinstein. We'll be in touch.”

  
  


He shook Tony's hand. “Yes, of course. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.” He turned to Ziva. “You should come to services here sometime. Shabbat Shalom.”

  
  


She shook his hand, smiling at him. “I would like that very much, thank you. Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi.”

  
  


Tony waited until they emerged into the cool, crisp autumn air. “Holy crap, Ziva! Did you have to say that?”

  
  


“Say what? That I am, perhaps, related to the Director of Mossad? He is my father, Tony,” Ziva exclaimed. “I have contacts that could help, here. I said what I did to put that poor man at ease. He obviously knows about what Mossad is and what we can do. I remember why we were started. I am very well aware of it!”

  
  


With that, Ziva walked away from Tony with a very full head of steam. He hung back, understanding that she was very angry at the moment and needed to burn it off. He turned his collar up at the chill mid-November breeze and began his sole trek back to the NCIS building.

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Tony had just hung up the phone after ordering a couple of long overdue dinner pizzas for the team when an explosion harshly vibrated the NCIS building. It did not come from inside the building, but outside and very nearby. The lights flickered briefly before staying on. A low alarm sounded throughout the building; a warning that something very bad had just happened.

  
  


“What was that?” McGee asked, paling and rising from his desk. “That sounded like a bomb blast.”

  
  


“Or like a jumbo jet trying to land on the roof,” Tony supplied.

  
  


Ziva was already at the window. Her gaze followed a base fire department truck as it zoomed past the front of the building. “It was a bomb. That is what it felt like to me. It was not far away.”

  
  


Gibbs came flying in. “Gear up! Explosion on the other side of the quad. Takin' the stairs; elevator is shut down.”

  
  


“Do we know where, Boss?” Tony asked, shouldering his backpack and heading to the stairwell with the others.

  
  


The retired Marine stopped on the bottom step. “Yeah, the Navy Chapel.”

  
  


 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Yahrzeit** _

_**chapter 4** _

  
  


  
  


  
  


Late evening November 9, 2007 to early morning November 10, 2007

  
  


The lights and sirens lead the way for the NCIS team, although they didn't need them. By the time they arrived at the Navy Chapel, the base's firefighters already had the fire down to a minimum. From what they could see, from the lack of glass on the grass surrounding the building, all the windows were broken from the outside, yet the smoke was pouring out from the inside, indicating that the incendiary device or devices were thrown in. Several firefighters were moving swiftly inside the building to extinguish what was left of the flames.

  
  


“What the hell happened here, Chief?” Gibbs demanded, halting before the man.

  
  


The fireman backed Gibbs up, waving for the team to back up as well. “Stand back here for your own safety. I really don't know what happened, Agent-”

  
  


“Gibbs.”

  
  


“We got a call of a bomb threat here at the Chapel. The guy that called it in said to look on the “subhuman side”, whatever that means. I got my boys going immediately and made it just a little after the explosion,” he explained. “You the MCRT?”

  
  


“Yeah,” Gibbs said, throwing a glance over to his team. They stood clear of the danger as requested. “Was there anyone inside?”

  
  


“No, nobody in the synagogue, but there was a Rabbi in the rectory. He's okay, though. Just some scrapes and bruises and some smoke inhalation. The EMT s are checking him out right now. Probably take him over to Bethesda for a precaution, though. No telling how much smoke he inhaled before getting out of there.”

  
  


Gibbs nodded. “Thanks, Captain. Let me know when my people can get in there. Did the caller say who they were?”

  
  


“Nope, they just said that there was a bomb in there. This is the damned Navy Yard. You'd think it would be safe here, ya know?”

  
  


Gibbs grunted an agreement with the statement as well as a dismissal and turned to his team. “Nobody was in the synagogue when the damned thing went off. The Rabbi was in the back offices.”

  
  


“Rabbi Feinstein?” Ziva asked, her voice tight. “Is he alright?”

  
  


“Just some scrapes and some smoke. He wasn't badly hurt.” He watched as his Liaison Officer slumped noticeably in obvious relief. “The fire chief will let us know when we can go inside and start gathering evidence.”

  
  


DiNozzo shifted his backpack. He and his partner had just been in there that morning. When could the bomb have been planted? That day, yesterday, last week, an hour ago? “Do we know who did this?” the ex-cop asked. “Or how the bomb got in there?”

  
  


Gibbs shook his head. “The fire chief just said they had a call in of a bomb threat and were just heading out when it went off. Nobody claimed responsibility.”

  
  


Her voice was soft as she watched the activity, everything just too familiar for any range of comfort. “At least not yet. Someone will call or there will be something left behind. I know this. There always is in one of these.”

  
  


“One of these?” Tony asked, eying her carefully. He could see it. She was already on edge.

  
  


“Synagogue bombings,” Ziva said. “I would not be surprised if some group will be claiming this _victory_ by morning.” She spat the word “victory” as if it was made of acid.

  
  


“Hey, you can't be sure,” Tony said, trying to sound reasonable.

  
  


She glared at him. “Yes, I can.”

  
  


“Well, at least no one was inside tonight,” McGee said, trying to defuse the situation already beginning to ignite between his teammates, and placing his backpack on the ground while watching the fire being put out.

  
  


She fought, she really did. Still, she burst out, “But there could have been! A whole congregation could have been in there! They could have been in there for Shabbat service! THIS is why I am certain!”

  
  


“Ziva, calm down,” Tony tried to soothe while McGee gaped like a fish out of water. He had rarely been on the receiving end of his teammate's temper and had no idea how to handle it. “They weren't and we should just be grateful for that.”

  
  


“Ziva, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just glad that no one was hurt.....because, because it could have been so much worse,” McGee stuttered.

  
  


The Mossad Officer took a deep breath in attempt to regain control of her temper and then coughed on the smoke. “I am sorry, McGee. I have too often seen things like this before and it is...hard.” She looked at her two teammates and the cultural divide between them suddenly seemed very wide to her at the moment. “You would not understand.” She walked away to check on the Rabbi.

  
  


“What was that about?” McGee asked.

  
  


Tony's gut twisted. “I'm not really sure.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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It was a good hour and a half later when the MCRT was allowed anywhere near the burnt out place of worship. The fire chief had cautioned them on the possibility of any falling debris and to call out if they found themselves in even the remotest hint of trouble. They had all agreed and headed off toward the building. As they neared the front entrance they saw the tag spray painted large on one side of the singed double doors. Ziva closed her eyes briefly in horror. She felt sick to her stomach.

  
  


“Looks like we got our calling card, Boss,” DiNozzo said as the all came closer to it. Scrawled and still mildly tacky on the side of the wall were the letters “W...A...N” with a very large and clear swastika beneath. He quickly snapped off a few pictures and then took a few samples of the drying spray paint for Abby to analyse.

  
  


McGee spoke up. “That's the local White Supremacist group that Ziva found yesterday. You know, the one with all the rhetoric about who the military should and should not let serve? Didn't Rabbi Feinstein say that that was the group that claimed responsibility to the pig's head and blood last spring?”

  
  


“Yeah, and you're right, Probie, lots of opinions about the military. Didn't you find out that they have a a lot of Navy and Marines in the membership?” Tony supplied, remembering the conversation he and Ziva had with the Rabbi just that morning. He turned to Gibbs as McGee nodded. “This is-”

  
  


“Gonna be worse than usual,” Gibbs finished in a very world weary voice. “I know, DiNozzo.” He spared a glance at the Israeli at his side. Her skin had paled slightly and she was muttering in Hebrew almost under her breath. From the tone, he could easily guess that it was a string of cussing. Maybe she shouldn't be there, despite her expertise on this subject. “Hey, David, you want to sit this one out?”

  
  


She lifted her chin in defiance, her voice strong and sure, “No. I am fine. I can do this. It is not my first bombed synagogue.”

  
  


“Then do it,” he said. Neo-Nazis, or Nazis of any kind and racial hate crimes were not his forte. They were Ziva's. He looked at his team. “Ziva, your call. Rule 38.”

  
  


“Rule 38, Boss?” McGee asked.

  
  


“Yep. This is Ziva's area; she's Mossad,” Gibbs said simply, nodding to Ziva. “They do this sort of thing all the time. Your investigation now, David.”

  
  


She looked at him, uncertain for a moment. He gave her a slight nod. She cleared her throat. “McGee, DiNozzo, you take the perimeter, Gibbs and I will take the inside,” their temporary team leader ordered, “I want everyone in pairs in case the bombers are in the crowd, admiring their handiwork They often are, just to see the pain they caused,” She said, before carefully heading inside, Gibbs trailing in her wake.

  
  


“On it, Boss!”

  
  


Gibbs and Ziva moved cautiously inside the damaged structure, him taking notes and bagging and tagging the evidence, she taking pictures. They both did their best to avoid stepping on or damaging any of the debris, but it was difficult not to step on the shards of broken glass or avoid the pieces of masonry littering the floor.

  
  


“Gibbs, if the blast came from the inside, why were the windows broken inward and not blown outward? I may not be a physicist, but I know bombs. This glass should be outside,” Ziva said, picking her head up and looking around at where each and every window had been. All the window glass was inside the building.

  
  


The former Marine took in what Ziva had found. She was right. “Maybe they broke all the windows first then threw the explosive devices in.”

  
  


Ziva's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement for a moment before she went back to photographing everything. Something about this was vaguely familiar, but she just couldn't place her finger on it at the moment. She slowly made her way to the Aron Kodesh, the place where the Torah was kept, vision kept steady at her camera lens. It was, somehow, easier to handle through that narrow view, that is, until she tracked up to the Torah. The scroll was unrolled and shredded into unrecognizable pieces. She let out a strangled cry of anguish at the sight.

  
  


Gibbs' head shot up at the sound. He expected to find her nursing an injury of some sort, but found her without a scratch, both her hands covering her mouth, camera swinging slightly on it's strap around her neck, eyes wide and full of horror. “Ziva, what is it?”

  
  


She tried to stop the trembling, fighting to keep her voice steady. She was team leader. She had to be strong. She was Mossad. “The Torah; they....they destroyed it. They destroyed it,” she nearly whispered, horror and hurt in her tone. She felt violated. This _**must**_ be documented. She raised her camera back up, stilling her trembling hands by sheer force of will, determined to continue photographing.

  
  


Gibbs could see how affected she was by the sight and crossed the temple to her side. “If you want to stop and go outside-”

  
  


“No,” she said barked, cutting him off. She suddenly glanced at the date in the corner of the frame of her camera and inhaled sharply, fury rising inside her, the air nearly crackling with it. Now she knew why it felt so familiar. She growled low, “You called Rule 38. I will see this through, Gibbs. I have to.”

  
  


Gibbs took in her anger and determination and chose to return to being her team member and not her friend if it would help her through whatever was creating such fury in her. “Anything you care to share, Officer David?”

  
  


“When we are finished. I do not wish to repeat this multiple times,” she replied with an air of finality, drawing her Mossad exterior around her like a cloak of untouchability.

  
  


He nodded and continued to collect the evidence that Ziva had already marked and photographed. “Have you seen any sign of the bomb yet?”

  
  


“Not yet, Gibbs,” the Israeli replied, grateful that he returned to the task at hand. She needed a little time to compartmentalize and sort through everything before she could be coherent in her explanation. “Perhaps there were-wait. There, do you see, that and that and that?”

  
  


Gibbs looked to where she had pointed and noticed the individual scorch marks, deeper than the ones caused by the fire. “Uh-huh. Get some shots of those, will ya? I'm gonna look closer.”

  
  


Sure enough, not only did he find trace of a substance but the remnants of wiring and a couple of bits that looked like they might have once been part of a cell phone. Abby would know for sure when she examined everything.

  
  


It was well past midnight before they felt they had gotten every shred of evidence they could have and headed back to the NCIS building.

  
  


“Got a feeling Abby is going to find the same kind of boots as the last scene. The casts McBusterBrown took looked like the ones from the Chaplain's uniform,” Tony said, when the silence just became too much to handle.

  
  


“Tell me something that I do not know, Tony,” Ziva snapped.

  
  


“Sorry, Ziva, I know that, just....”  
  
  
  


“Whatever.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Hours later the Agents and Mossad Officer were still pouring over the interviews with the few witnesses, coming up with little to no more information or enlightenment. They had scoured the pictures of the gathered crowd at the crime scene and had begun to run facial recognition, only to come up empty. There were plenty of naval personnel, and all that they had checked thus far had come up clean.

  
  


Without a word, Gibbs had disappeared a half an hour before only to suddenly reappear with a foam tray with three tall coffee cups in it. His own was already in his hand. He stopped by his weary Liaison Officer's desk, placing a cup in front of her. She looked up at him with eyes so haunted that it hurt to look at her. She had not just been quiet, but utterly, completely, silent since they left the crime scene. On one hand he wanted to know, and on the other, he didn't want to know what was going through her mind. Somehow, he knew that he'd be finding out sooner or later and his gut told him that it was not going to be anything good.

  
  


“Thought you could use this tonight,” he said, noting that she still had not ceased the mild trembling that had wracked her body since they were at the crime scene. He doubted those tremors had anything to do with her being physically chilled.

  
  


She ghosted him a smile, grateful. Not only for the hot beverage, but of him respecting her silence for once. She would speak when it was time. “Toda, Gibbs.”

  
  


He nodded at her and handed off the other two cups to his Agents.

  
  


“Thanks, Boss, uhm, Gibbs,” McGee said when Gibbs threw him a look, reminding him that Ziva had the helm.

  
  


Tony sniffed the air. “I smell chocolate....hot chocolate!” He lifted the lid on his cup; coffee. It was coffee the way he liked it, but it was coffee. He looked at Gibbs and opened his mouth.

  
  


“Ziver has the hot chocolate,” Gibbs said. “Don't complain.”

  
  


Ziva sipped the hot chocolate, thankful for it. “Anybody have anything?”

  
  


“Still running the facial rec on the crowd, Boss,” McGee said, stifling a yawn. It wasn't the first long night he'd pulled on the team and he knew it wouldn't be his last. “There was a lot of people so it's gonna take time.”

  
  


“Tony?”

  
  


“Doing the background checks on those we already identified and I'm coming up with a whole lot of zilch,” Tony said.

  
  


She nodded and stayed silent for a few moments before speaking. “I have something, I think. Yes, our Chaplain was murdered and that, for the Navy, I think, was the start. I have a theory.” She tapped her keyboard a couple of times and what was on her monitor flashed up on the screen. “I have been looking things up.”

  
  


“That's-”

  
  


“Please, McGee, do not interrupt. I am trying very hard to think and speak in English right now.” Ziva said, quickly. She paused again, gathering her thoughts. “What you see here is something called Kristalnacht.”

  
  


“Night of Broken Glass,” Gibbs said quietly.

  
  


“Yes, named such because of the sound the glass made as it was destroyed. This is why all the glass was inside the synagogue and not outside. They broke it like that night and here may be why. If you look at the date here,” she clicked and zoomed in on the date. “It is exactly 69 years ago tonight. It appears that White Arlington Now, from the graffiti we had found spray painted on the wall at the crime scene, is marking the anniversary of it. Why they chose not to wait for the 70th anniversary, I do not know.” She was silent again, thinking. “Perhaps that it was a Friday night, Shabbat, or the Sabbath for Jews, and it might have a greater impact. I think it would be wise to check with Metro to see if there have been any other incidents tonight. If not, then we will need to...to....uhm...” She waved a hand in the air.

  
  


“Re-evaluate the evidence?” Tony supplied.

  
  


Ziva nodded, gesturing positively toward him. “Yes! From what McGee found, a great deal of that group is in the military, but there are civilian members as well. It could be that only the military members took action, given their credo. Maybe all, many, or just a small number. I do not know. A great deal of damage can be done by very few.”

  
  


“I'll check with Metro right now, Boss,” Tony offered, already picking up the phone.

  
  


Ziva looked at the three men, taking into account how long they were up the night before and the time of night it already was before speaking, “No. Tony, do it in the morning. Go home. Abby will not have any answers for hours yet. Nothing has been reported by the MP's for either the Navy or Marine base housing yet, either. Get a couple of hours of rest and be back at 0700.”

  
  


The three grumbled their consent and slowly gathered their things and made their way to the elevator and retired for the night.

  
  


  
  


  
  


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	5. Chapter 5

_**Yahrzeit** _

_**Chapter 5** _

  
  


  
  


November 10, 2007

  
  


  
  


  
  


The November morning was overcast and the air smelt of possible snow if the temperatures continued to drop as they had been all night. Ziva hadn't slept much, turning her own theory over and over in her head. If she was correct, they had a huge case on their hands and a possibility of needing to co-ordinate with Metro PD, and, ultimately, depending on what else they found, Mossad.

  
  


She ran a hand through her curls as the elevator doors opened and the loud music from Abby's lab blasted into her face. “What do you have, Abby?” she shouted over the music.

  
  


“Morning, Ziva,” she chirruped at the young Israeli. She reached for the offered Caf-Pow. “Thank you. Wait. You're not Gibbs. Where's Gibbs? Why isn't he down here?”

  
  


“It is my investigation, not Gibbs',” Ziva informed her.

  
  


“No, no, no, that's wrong! He isn't going back to Mexico or something?” Abby panicked.

  
  


“Abby! Rule 38!” Ziva told her.

  
  


Abby's face lit up. “Oh, then it's okay, then. You're just in time. Major Mass Spec says that the substance from the scorchy places is C-4. I can tell you that the C-4 was wired to each other and set off by cell phone. Each phone must have been preset to explode all from the same number, unless anyone heard more than one blast, because I didn't and I didn't feel a second one, either. Whoever set this knew what they were doing.”

  
  


“What about the broken glass? Any prints?” Ziva asked.

  
  


“Nothing I can find. The bad guys probably wore some sort of gloves. I have the best candidates analyzing now to see if I can pick up what kind of gloves they might have worn,” Abby said. She looked at her newest friend with deep concern in her eyes. “Who are these people and why did they do this to a house of worship? Is this tied into our dead Chaplain?”

  
  


“We are working on it, Abby. We have some theories and we will be looking at them when the team gets in,” Ziva said, patting the forensic scientist on the shoulder. “Do not worry, we will get them.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Ziva walked into the bull pen. “Well? Anything?”

  
  


McGee hung up the phone. “Just got off with the base police. 46 disturbance calls last night, 37 of them coming from Jewish homes, specifically,” he reported. “They're emailing me the names so we can talk to the victims.”

  
  


“Good work, McGee.” She looked toward DiNozzo, who held his finger up, phone to his ear.

  
  


“Yeah, okay, thanks, Pete,” he said, hanging up. “Boss, seven synagogues got the same treatment as ours did and eighteen Jewish owned businesses were vandalized in the Metro area.”

  
  


“Names, Tony?”

  
  


“On their way.”

  
  


Ziva sat down at her desk, her eyes troubled even more than the night before. Dark circles shadowed them. It was clear to the men that she hadn't slept much at all. “I have nothing at the moment. But, if it is also bleeding into the civilian population, and we will have to work with Metro police....Gibbs, do you wish me to call my father since this is, apparently, a hate crime against Jews? I am very inclined to.”

  
  


Gibbs thought about it for a moment. “I'm not sure, Ziva. This is an American issue beginning with our Naval officer. I don't want to involve Mossad beyond you at this time. Besides, that would be something for the Director to decide, if it even comes to that. For now, this is an internal matter, only.”

  
  


Ziva rose. “Then I shall go and ask her if she wishes to make it external.”

  
  


The ding of the elevator doors opening caught everyone's attention. Out strode FBI Agent Tobias Fornell. He strode quickly into the thick of the bull pen. “Looks like you started the preliminaries on our case. I'll take that information now.”

  
  


“Like hell,” Gibbs growled for Ziva, who was a bit astonished and not used to Agent Fornell at all.

  
  


“Civilian hate crime; FBI jurisdiction,” Fornell spat, almost nose to nose with the retired Marine.

  
  


“Conference room! David!” Gibbs spat back, stalking away. Fornell turned and followed, getting into the elevator with them. When it was between floors, Gibbs hit the stop switch. “Naval officer beat to death and it was our Chapel that got bombed last night. Thirty-seven Navy and Marine households targeted overnight. It's ours. David leads.”

  
  


“Sorry, Gibbs, Officer David, there's more civilian damage. Belongs to the FBI,” Fornell countered.

  
  


“Listen, Tobias, that officer that got beat to death was a Rabbi in the Chaplain's Corps. The group David and McGee found and researched is mostly military and they tagged the scene last night, claiming responsibility. They're Neo-Nazi's and it's David's expertise.”

  
  


Fornell sighed. “Okay, to keep our directors and Metro PD from getting into a pissing contest, we share information. You handle the military angle and the FBI takes the civilian end and if it's the same group, we do a joint take down, agreed?”

  
  


Gibbs nodded once. “Agreed. Metro is kicked to the curb. David?”

  
  


“Yes. Agent Fornell, I can guess you would like a copy of everything we have this far?” Ziva said, finding her balance again.

  
  


“Yeah.”

  
  


“Then you shall have it. Gibbs?”

  
  


He turned the elevator back on.

  
  


The doors opened and they all strode out and back into the bull pen. “Alright, listen up, this is a joint investigation between us and the FBI. Ziva is still lead. Metro PD is officially out. We take the Navy and Marines and the FBI takes the civilians. Since everything happened in the last 48 hours it could be related. We share information. All of it. McGee, put everything on a whatsit for Fornell.”

  
  


“On it, Boss, uhm, Gibbs. Uhm, Ziva?” McGee said as his fingers flew over his keyboard. He spared a glance at Fornell, already on the phone relaying to his team the exact same thing.

  
  


She nodded. “Please.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Director Shepard's office door was open without announcement or ceremony. NCIS Director Jennifer “Jenny” Shepard looked up from her computer screen, removing her reading glasses. “Agent Gibbs, Officer David, I have a secretary and a door for a reason,” she chided as he strode in, followed by Agent Fornell. “Nice to see you again, Agent Fornell.”

  
  


“Likewise, Director,” the FBI Agent replied politely.

  
  


“I take it that you're here about the recent string of apparent hate crimes?” she asked. When he nodded, she added. “And the FBI wants jurisdiction.”

  
  


“No,” Ziva said. “Fornell and I want joint jurisdiction on this. There are a string of hate crimes that are strictly in NCIS' jurisdiction, but the possibly related civilian belongs to the FBI.”

  
  


Jenny's ginger eyebrows arched in surprise. “And you arranged this between yourselves? Have you spoken with Director Stevens?”

  
  


“Talkin' to him next,” Gibbs supplied.

  
  


Jenny thought over the concept of a joint investigation for a few moments. “A joint investigation has it's merits, but are you certain that the incidents are related?”

  
  


“Not just yet, Director,” Fornell said. “My people are investigating and retrieving information from D.C. Metro as we speak. If there's any corroborating evidence then we have a joint investigation.”

  
  


“You have the green light from me as long as Director Stevens agrees,” she said, “I can't fathom why he wouldn't.”

  
  


“I'll make sure to assure him,” Fornell told her. “If you don't mind, I need to make that phone call now.”

  
  


Jenny nodded. “Of course,” she agreed and waited until Fornell left before calling out, “Officer David!”

  
  


She stepped back into her office. “Director?”

  
  


“Close the door.”

  
  


She did and waited for her to speak.

  
  


“Ziva, I know this is hitting very close to home for you, even if you're our expert on things like this. How are you dealing with it?” she asked, not so much as the Director of NCIS, but Ziva's former partner and friend.

  
  


She nodded. “It is fine, Jen. I can handle this, although I may need a day once this is over.”

  
  


“You'll have it and whatever else you need.”

  
  


“I am doing my best to not only lead the investigation, but be a liaison between the team and the Jewish community. I do not want the investigation stalled by unintended faux pas.”

  
  


“I figured you would be,” Jenny said, regarding her former partner closely. She was already stressed, but not badly, or, at least Jenny couldn't tell how much or how little she really was. Ziva hid things so very well. “Ziva, you know that if you need to, or if you just want to, you can come to me to talk. My door is open any time.”

  
  


“It will not be necessary, but thank you.”

  
  


“I know. But I have to offer.”

  
  


“Thank you.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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The rest of that day was devoted to coordinating and collating with the FBI after they received all their documentation from Metro P.D. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 1900 hours, Ziva dismissed the team, suddenly realizing that they had been on the job since relatively early that morning and had covered a lot of ground and were looking rather exhausted. It was clear that the cases were related. As unsettled as the team was, Ziva knew that it was better for them and the investigation as a whole if they all went home and got a good night's rest. With mumbled wishes of having a good night, the team dispersed, save Gibbs, who opted to stay just a bit longer.

  
  


Gibbs gut churned watching the team leave. It wasn't so much McGee, with his tender heart or DiNozzo with his sense of justice that troubled him the most, but his Liaison Officer that had seen this before and was deeply troubled by it, but would not talk, nor even acknowledge the disquiet that enveloped her. He willed her to stay strong to lead.

  
  


  
  


  
  


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November 11, 2007

  
  


  
  


  
  


Ziva balanced the trays and containers in her arms as she made her way to her desk. She was, apparently, the first one in, even before Gibbs. Setting everything down on her desk, she gathered the individual containers in her hands and placed them on her teammates' desks, setting those aside for Jenny, Abby, Ducky and Palmer.

  
  


She hadn't slept a single, solitary, wink and poured all her disquiet and energy into cooking for everyone. She was bone tired, but, even after several hours of laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, she couldn't sleep. She was wound up like a rubber band about to snap and needed to do something to make herself relax. She couldn't run all night, so, she went into her kitchen and did one of the few things that truly relaxed her....cooking and baking.

  
  


Ziva made breakfast for everyone in the form of burritos with eggs, cheese, veggies and hash browns, breakfast cookies with fruit and oats and sweet, creamy oatmeal with fresh fruit. She made chocolate chip cookies, cinnamon sugar cookies, three different kinds of quick breads and a couple of spreads. By the time it came around to get up and go into work, she was almost tired enough to sleep. Almost. A ding of the elevator arriving had her turning her head to see who had arrived.

  
  


Tony and McGee both exited the elevator, debating some point in American Football. All debate stopped when they saw what was on their desks.

  
  


“What's this?” Tony asked as he dropped his backpack. He opened the insulated container and took in the savory aroma. “Breakfast Fairy?”

  
  


“Oh, wow!” McGee breathed, picking up the foil wrapped package and opening it. He took a bite and his eyes closed in bliss. Everything he loved in a breakfast burrito. “Who do I owe for this?”

  
  


“Dunno, Probie. Ask Ziva,” Tony mumbled around a mouthful of breakfast.

  
  


“I could not sleep much last night, so I did a little cooking,” Ziva said softly. “Please, enjoy it.”

  
  


“Opening a catering company, David?” Gibbs asked as he strode in, ever present coffee in hand. “Or not sleepin' too well?”

  
  


She cast him a smile tempered by a hard “hush up” look as he opened his breakfast burrito, extra cheese and lots of ketchup and hot sauce. “Go home. Cook a banquet and then get some shut eye. If you're this wound up, then you gotta release and sleep or you're useless. I know it's your case. I'll have McGee do the text thing when we have questions and I promise to call you back if I need to. Don't think I'm not enjoying this breakfast, but you couldn't have made this spread and slept. Go home. Now.”

  
  


“Gibbs-”

  
  


He took another huge bite, savoring the flavor, and helped himself to a slice of banana bread, slathering it with a sweet cream cheese spread. “Nope. You have been up almost 48 hours and won't be much use leading your team today. You guys do it when I'm out. We can do it while you're resting.” Knowing how tense she still was, he tossed a couple of fifties on her desk. “Make us a banquet for tonight and we'll be over and catch you up and plan our next moves. Blow yourself out and then sleep.” He knelt next to her, dropping his voice so only she could hear. “Ziver, go. I know you're beyond tense and too exhausted to say. You said that cooking relaxes you and from this spread and the look in your eyes, you need more. If anything that we absolutely need you for comes up, I will call you, myself.”

  
  


“But-”

  
  


“No. DiNozzo and McGee need a good, home cooked meal. I could use one, too,” Gibbs admitted, his voice soft. He could see the sorrow, anguish and complete exhaustion in her eyes. “At this moment, the best you can do to lead this team and to serve this investigation is to go home and sleep. A kindness you can do for yourself and this team is to go home and do what makes you relax. One of us will call you to update you on the investigation and get the menu, alright?”

  
  


“I-”

  
  


“I don't doubt you, Ziver. I know that you need a little space and time. Not gonna get this often from me. Take my advice from years of experience. Go and do what I tell you,” Gibbs said, making sure his kindness had the ring of an order. She would respond to nothing less.

  
  


She nodded once. “Yes, Gibbs.”

  
  


 


	6. Chapter 6

_**Yahrzeit** _

_**chapter 6** _

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


November 12, 2007

  
  


  
  


The elevator dinged and Gibbs got off, striding into the still empty bull pen, stopping at Ziva's desk to stare at a large, brown paper wrapped package sitting in the middle of it. It was clearly from overseas. He peered closer, noting Hebrew lettering on a couple of handling instruction stickers. He couldn't read them, but there were other stickers next to their Hebrew counterparts that told him all he needed to know. He squinted at the return address.

  
  


“Hannah D. Plotkin, of Tel Aviv, who are you?” he asked quietly. Gibbs figured he'd find everything out when his Liaison Officer arrived for the day.

  
  


He thought back to the evening before. The dinner was more like a grand, yet very homey, family holiday kind of feast and Ziva had clearly outdone herself. She had over a dozen dishes plus two still warm loaves of braided egg bread, glistening with an egg wash and sprinkled with sesame seeds to add to the table. The team gorged themselves on the lavish feast, finishing off several bottles of the gentle Israeli wine that DiNozzo brought over. Tony made certain that Ziva's glass never emptied and was rewarded by her increasingly wide yawns. Gibbs stayed to help her clean up and, by the time he left, the kitchen sparkled and all the pots, pans and dishes were in the dishwasher being scrubbed clean, Ziva was so clearly exhausted that she could barely stand upright. He made certain she was all snuggled up in bed before he let himself out. He hoped she had slept well; she needed it more than any of them.

  
  


Gibbs crossed over to his own desk and turned his computer on, quickly bringing up his overnight email messages. God, he hated email. Growling at the program, he logged in and began to scan for anything from Fornell or the FBI in general.

  
  


He was well on his way to wanting, no, needing, to chuck his entire computer through the windows in front of him when the elevator dinged and both McGee and Ziva emerged, heading directly to their desks. Gibbs looked the Israeli over. She looked 100 percent better than she had just 24 hours before. The creative activity and good night's sleep did her a world of wonder. She even appeared to be in a relatively cheerful mood.

  
  


McGee smiled at Gibbs as he logged into his own email program for the latest information on the case. “Morning, Boss, uhm, Gibbs.”

  
  


“McGee,” grunted his team leader in a gruff greeting. “David.”

  
  


“Boker tov,” Ziva mumbled, studying her package. Suddenly she smiled as she stowed her things behind her desk. A click of her favorite knife snapping open was heard, followed by the sound of paper and packing tape being cut. Her smile widened as she pulled out a pale green envelope. She opened it. Inside was a card with Hebrew lettering on it. She slipped a piece of stationary out and began to read.

  
  


At the sound of a soft squeal of delight, both men looked up. Ziva was beaming, holding a metal cookie tin in her hands. “Ani ohevet otakh, Doda Nettie. Toda,” she murmured.

  
  


Whatcha got there, Zee-vah?” Tony asked, coming up behind her.

  
  


She hugged the container to herself. “Something precious.”

  
  


“Come on, spill it. You got a big box of something,” he pushed. “Share!”

  
  


He reached for the inside of the box, but Ziva's lightning reflexes had her hand on his wrist before he could lay a fingertip below the edge. “Hands out, Tony. I have not even looked inside yet. The container was on top. Back out.”

  
  


“Off. Back off,” Tony corrected automatically. He retreated to his desk, placing his things down. He sat, watching her closely as she went through the contents of the box, clear delight on her face. “It must be something good. You look like a kid on Christmas morning.”

  
  


“Channukah, I do not celebrate Christmas,” she pointed out, opening the previously discarded cookie tin, opening it and inhaling the scent of it's contents. “However, this is something to celebrate. She is correct. I cannot get this particular thing in America.” She pulled out a small, delicate tan ball and popped it into her mouth. “Heaven.”

  
  


“What is it?” McGee asked, finally looking away from his computer.

  
  


“My Aunt Nettie's homemade Chalvah,” she said, popping another in her mouth. “I have missed this. I cannot make it like she does.”

  
  


Taking advantage of Ziva's distraction with the candy, Tony reached his hand inside the box, pulling out the first thing it gripped. “Oh-ho, what's this? A crosstitich kit? No, several of them and threads and fabric and-”

  
  


Ziva slapped the kit out of his hand. “That is none of your business, DiNozzo! It is a private package for my birthday from my Aunt in Tel Aviv to me.”

  
  


He wasn't going to be stopped. “Afraid to admit to doing something girly, Zee-vah? Happy birthday, by the way.”

  
  


“Thank you and no. But it is private and something my Aunt taught me when I was a child,” she said, looking over the kit that she slapped out of Tony's hand. She grinned, reading the Hebrew text. “Oh, this is going right on the wall behind me when I finish it.”

  
  


The conversation was interrupted by Fornell entering. He zeroed in on the Israeli. “David, we have the full list of names from White Arlington Now. Check it against-”

  
  


“Service records,” Gibbs finished for him, speaking before Ziva could open her mouth. “How the hell did you get that so fast?”

  
  


“We're the FBI. Gotta know who we're dealing with at all times,” Fornell said with a smug smile.

  
  


Ziva stood and went to move between Fornell and Gibbs. She fought the urge to roll her eyes to the heavens in a plea for patience. “Is that so? Then how come you could not get this to us yesterday?”

  
  


Fornell squirmed a little under that penetrating, dark brown gaze. He could swear that she had been taking staring lessons from Gibbs. “Well, we needed an updated list. That took time.” He tossed a flash drive to Ziva, who tossed it to McGee.

  
  


“McGee.”

  
  


“On it, Boss,” McGee said as he pulled up the list of known members of White Arlington Now. It was longer than any of them had anticipated. There were potentially more people involved in this than they had thought. “I'll start running the names against military service records.”

  
  


Ziva nodded once. “Good. Is there anything else, Agent Fornell?”

 

“Yeah,”Fornell gestured to the plasma again. “McGee, can you pull up the picture file?” When the young computer genius nodded, he turned back to Ziva. “These are all the pictures taken of all the civilian crime scenes. No one was hurt, but the property damage was pretty severe. Lots of broken glass and graffiti spray painted at each scene. Bring up the shots of the synagogues.”

  
  


McGee clicked and side by side shots of the synagogue crime scenes sprang up. All four Agents and the Mossad Officer gathered closer to the screen. “Wow, Boss, that looks just like-”

  
  


“The Navy Chapel,” Ziva finished for him. “The broken windows and the spray paint are similar. Agent Fornell, there were bombs set at the synagogues, yes? And the broken glass was on the inside of the synagogues, yet all the explosive devices were clearly planted and not thrown in?” At an affirmative nod from Tobias, she turned. “Gibbs, I know this is my investigation, but now can I call-”

  
  


“No. Not unless both Directors give you permission,” he replied quickly. “We have enough internal agencies involved. Don't need any more; just complicates things.”

  
  


At Fornell's puzzled look, Tony said, “Wants to make a phone call to Israel; get the home team involved.”

  
  


“I'm with Gibbs on that one, David. Let's keep it in the U.S. for now,” the FBI Agent said quickly.

  
  


“Okay, these names are both in White Arlington Now and in the military, Navy and Marines,” McGee said, putting the names up on screen, removing the pictures of the desecration of the houses of worship.

  
  


“There have to be at least three dozen names, Boss,” Tony said, eyes widening in realization that this case just got a lot bigger.

  
  


“Yes. Run background checks on all of them.” Ziva went back to her desk, sitting down. “Not everyone in the group is willing to commit the violence, I know that. It is the way with these things. Some just like to talk big and do nothing else. Let us find out who are the talkers and who are the doers.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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“Okay, Boss, got the list!” McGee announced, excitement in his voice. Finally they were getting somewhere with the investigation.

  
  


“What are you doing just sitting there, McGee? You, DiNozzo, start bringing them in!” Ziva barked, sounding a great deal like Gibbs. Perhaps he rubbed off on her after all. “Gibbs, give me the files. I want to get familiar with them. You have said that I am in the lead, so I get to interrogate, yes?”

  
  


“Yeah,” Gibbs said, getting up and over to her desk, handing her the files. He grabbed a ball of chalvah from the tin, tossing it in his mouth. “Time to use that Mossad training of yours. Who better to rattle their cages?” Seeing enthusiasm dawning in her chocolate orbs, he smiled, stole another piece and returned to his desk. “Good candy.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Gibbs, McGee, Tony and Ziva stood inside the Observation Room looking at the occupant in Interrogation.

  
  


“Suspect Numero Uno, Boss; Petty Officer Third Class Matthew F. Sturm,” Tony said, flipping open the file. “He's been a bad boy. Has a history of bullying before and after joining the Navy. Has had notable and very verbal issues with those of the Jewish persuasion. Says the families should have all been gassed back in World War II,” He tossed a guilty glance at his temporary team leader. “Sorry, Ziva.”

  
  


“Do not be; I have heard it before,” she said, her eyes narrowing, still gazing at the suspect. She flipped her Star of David necklace out of her collar, laying it on top of her royal blue turtleneck. “I know how to handle this one.”

  
  


“Just remember, ya can't touch him,” Gibbs said. “Come on.”

  
  


Sturm looked over at the door as it opened and Gibbs and Ziva walked in. Ziva sat across from him while Gibbs leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed.

  
  


“Do you know why you are here, Petty Officer?” Ziva asked, deliberately deepening her accent. She lifted her deep brown eyes to his blue ones. His light brown hair was high and tight, complexion fair. His blue camo stretched across his powerful chest. His hands sat folded in front of him.

  
  


“Dunno,” he said, taking her features in. Curly dark brown or black hair, he couldn't tell, caramel skin and dark eyes. She was pretty enough, if of an inferior race. “What are you, Mexican, Puerto Rican?”

  
  


“No, and I am the one asking the questions here, Petty Officer,” she said, opening his file in front of her. She had made sure he could see the contents from where he sat, knowing that he couldn't read a word. It was all in Hebrew. It was a deliberate ploy to set him off balance. “Do you know why you are here?”

  
  


“Parking tickets?” he asked flippantly.

  
  


“Do not try and be funny with me. I am not in the mood,” she snapped, toying with her necklace chain.

  
  


The ploy worked as his attention was drawn from the foreign writing on the papers in front of her to the golden star. His expression at once became smug and superior. He smirked, speaking in German. “ _I have nothing to say to you, Jewess._ ”

  
  


Ziva smirked back at him. She had completely anticipated this. She replied in flawless German. “ _It is better that you talk to me and get it all over with. If you did nothing wrong, you are free to go. Now, answer my questions and it will go well for you. I already know that you are a member of White Arlington Now and that you have a history of acts of violence against Jewish military personnel. Did you have anything to do with or know of the beating of Chaplain Jerome Goldenberg on Thursday, November 8_ _th_ _or the actions of Friday evening, November 9_ _th_ _of this year?”_

  
  


Sturm blinked in surprise. He did not expect the Jewish whore to speak his language. The very fact that her accent and mastery of the language out did him made him even less willing to co-operate. “ _I won't speak to a filthy Jew._ ”

  
  


“ _That is a mistake. You see, Agent Gibbs over there, he will not allow me to do as I wish to you to extract the information from you, and I do know how. I have excellent training in that craft,_ ” Ziva said, rising and circling the table to put him further at unease. “ _I can wager that I know more about your organization than you know about mine. Your ideological forebears learned the hard way. I am not NCIS. Care to take a wild guess what organization I belong to?_ ” When the Petty Officer refused to answer, she turned to Gibbs, switching back to English. “I do not think he understands just what a predicament he has gotten himself into, Gibbs.”

  
  


He pushed off the wall. “Nope, I guess not,” Gibbs agreed mildly. He sat down in the chair that Ziva had vacated. “Let me give you a hint, here, kid. Her organization was formed in December of 1949 to hunt down Nazi war criminals. You lose any family in that war, Officer David?”

  
  


“Yes, I did,” she replied calmly from behind the Petty Officer. She smiled when he jumped at the sound of her voice.

  
  


“Do you know where that was?”

  
  


Her voice was calm and slightly cold when she spoke. “A great aunt and uncle in Treblinka on my mother's side and my father's three older brothers and sister in Auschwitz. He was born in a resettlement camp.”

  
  


“ _Too bad they didn't gas both families,_ ” Sturm said.

  
  


Gibbs slammed his palm on the table. “Hey! You speak English to me! I don't want the Director to have to ask Officer David to translate the transcript of this. Now you answer her questions.”

  
  


Ziva leaned over on the back of Sturm's chair. She spoke in English. “I will ask you again. Were you involved in or have any knowledge of the beating of Chaplain Jerome Goldenberg on November 8th or the actions on the Navy Yard the night of November 9th of this year? I suggest that you answer.”

  
  


Sturm cringed. That filthy Jewess was far too close to him for cleanliness. He'd have to shower with boiling hot water and grease monkey pumice soap to get the stench of her fetid Jew odor off of him. He looked at Gibbs. “I knew about the Jew beating, but only after the fact. Didn't do anything on Friday night other than go to my church for Friday fish fry. You can check. Arlington Lutheran Church. Reverend Wolff can vouch. I was there until 2200. Then went right back to the ship. Deck Officer can tell you what time I came back in.”

  
  


“Who beat the Chaplain?” Ziva asked, still leaning over him. She watched as he shrugged.

  
  


“Answer her, Sturm.”

  
  


“Dunno. Just heard the pig was beat up.”

  
  


Gibbs stared hard at the Petty Officer. “That 'pig' is a man of the cloth, Sturm. He also was a husband and father to three children. Chaplain Goldenberg died of his injuries. Now if you know who beat him, you better tell me and now.”

  
  


“I don't know. I just heard he was beat up. That's all.” Sturm cringed again as he felt Ziva's breath on the back of his neck. “Get that filthy Kike off me.”

  
  


“Officer David, I think you might be making our good Petty Officer here a little uncomfortable,” Gibbs said in a very affable tone.

  
  


“Is that all?” she asked, walking back around where he could see her again. “Be glad that is all I have done, Petty Officer.”

  
  


Gibbs stood. “I think we're done here.” He made for the door, ushering Ziva ahead of him. He stopped and turned to his suspect. “Oh, yeah, have you figured out what organization she's from yet?” Sturm shook his head. “Ya oughtta be thankful I was in here with ya to hold her back. She was telling you the truth. She's not NCIS; she's Mossad.”

  
  


Sturm wet himself.

  
  


  
  


  
  


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	7. Chapter 7

_**Yahrzeit** _

_**chapter 7** _

  
  


  
  


  
  


The next near dozen interrogations went in a very similar fashion, none of the men admitting to doing anything. They finished off with the Navy personnel for the day and began to bring in the Marines.

  
  


Gibbs looked at his Liaison Officer with a bit of concern. She had sat out the last three interrogations of the Navy personnel, deferring to Gibbs, saying that she had a nasty headache, and sitting in Observation and still looked a bit tired. Her German had gotten a good work out several times. “Want to sit this one out, Ziva?” he asked.

  
  


She shook her head, ignoring the pounding inside of it. “No. I am fine.” She grinned up at him. “I had coffee.”

  
  


He returned her grin. She certainly had spunk. “Well, alright, then. Let's go, Boss.”

  
  


They walked into the Interrogation room and began, Ziva starting the questioning and Gibbs observing. McGee turned to Tony. “Why is Gibbs letting her do all the talking? I still don't get it. I mean, I know she's Mossad and all, and this is her lead, but she sat out...”

  
  


“It's her wheelhouse, Probie,” Tony replied. “Gibbs is letting her run with it. Rule 38...... Not only is she well trained in interrogation techniques from Mossad, remember she told us that, like plenty, but if anyone is going to rile up these guys, it's someone obviously Jewish in a position of authority. Remember, these guys don't like people of her culture. She's flexing her authority over them by running the interrogation. Gibbs is displaying his respect for her by not joining her unless she invites him in.”

  
  


Tim grinned. “I get it! Actions speak louder than words!”

  
  


“You deserve a Probie Snack!” Tony exclaimed, patting McGee on the shoulder. He watched with rapt fascination as the intricate dance that had been choreographed before unfolded itself before their eyes yet again. “Boss is a genius.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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Almost a dozen young Marines in, Ziva decided to call it a day. She sent the team home with an admonition to get a good night's sleep because round three would begin at 0700.

  
  


Tony yawned and turned to McGee. “Drink, Probie?”

  
  


McGee shook his head. “I think I'll sit this one out, Tony. Who knew hauling in suspects and observing interrogations could be so exhausting?”

  
  


Tony nodded. “Ziva?”

  
  


She looked up at him. “I do not think so. I have another report I want to get in tonight.”

  
  


DiNozzo leaned over onto her desk as McGee passed them by on the way to the elevator. She looked exhausted, and that didn't bother him nearly as much as the deep sadness in her eyes that had not left them since the Chaplain's murder. Perhaps a tequila shot or two would allow her to relax just a bit and make that sadness that he knew he could never quite understand lift from her eyes, even for a little while. He hated to see her hurting. “C'mon, Bosslady. You said we could go for the night; finish that in the morning.”

  
  


Ziva glanced his way again, noting the concern in his beautiful green eyes and stifled a yawn. “Perhaps you are right.” She saved what she had written and logged off. She gathered her things, shrugging on her coat.

  
  


“So, when did you learn German?” he asked as they walked to the elevator together.

  
  


“When I was eleven,” she replied, pressing the button. “My father insisted on it.”

  
  


_**\--Flashback--** _

  
  


“ _ **But Abba, why must I learn that language?” eleven year old Ziva asked, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.**_

  
  


_**The great bear of a man that was Eli David regarded his angry daughter steadily. If only she could learn to take orders, one day she would be a great asset to Mossad and her country. She should not need a reason, but just do as he asked. For now, he would tell her and, perhaps, one day soon, she would know that when he told her to do something, there was always a good reason for it. “Ziva, what was the language that the people spoke that killed our family in World War Two?”** _

  
  


_**Ziva knew this one cold; every Israeli child of European decent did. “German, Abba. But-”** _

  
  


“ _ **Very good,” he praised. “You need to learn German. You need to learn the language of those that were once our enemies, but now are not. Some day you may need to go to Germany and you will need to know the language to blend in in a way that our ancestors were unable to. Besides, it is only polite to learn the language of a country you will visit, yes? Do you understand me?”**_

  
  


“ _ **Did they not also speak, German? Our family?”**_

  
  


“ _ **Yes, of course they did. And Czech and Polish and Russian, but that is not the point. The point is, is that you have a gift for language, my Zivaleh, and I want you to learn as much as you can, always. In your future you may have need of that gift,” David said smoothly.**_

  
  


“ _ **But, I wish to learn English,” Ziva said. “Have you not said that it is the language of world commerce and air travel? Will I not need it in the IDF?”**_

  
  


_**He chuckled slightly at his headstrong daughter. She could learn as many languages as would stick in her head. He'd see to it, himself. He'd had her I.Q. tested years ago and knew her potential. It never hurt that she also had a photographic memory.** _

  
  


_**It was said that the Catholic Pope, himself, spoke a dozen languages and was working on learning even more. If that man could learn languages in his old age, Eli David's young daughter could do as well or better with her gift. “All in good time, Ziveleh, all in good time. For now, German. It will help you with your English later on because many words in the English language have Germanic roots.”** _

  
  


_**Young Ziva pouted, though she knew the discussion, if there ever was one, was over. Thinking over the last of what her father said to her, she suddenly found herself very eager to learn something new. “Very well, Abba. There is a new alephabet to learn, yes?”** _

  
  


“ _ **The word is 'alphabet'. Only in Hebrew do we call it alephabet,” he said, handing her a book. “You will be meeting with your language coach in an hour. Look this over and see if you can make any sense out of the letters.”**_

  
  


_**She took the book, looking at the strange lettering on the cover. “Abba, can you speak German?”** _

  
  


“ _ **Yes, Ziva, I can.”**_

  
  


_**\--End Flashback--** _

  
  


“I learned it as a child, Tony,” Ziva said, getting off the elevator and walking toward her car.

  
  


Tony followed her. “Just how many languages do you speak?” he asked, curiosity overwhelming him. He counted, at one time, at least half a dozen.

  
  


“Not nearly enough, but enough to get by in my line of work,” she replied cryptically. “Almost a dozen, Tony. I have had need of it when in other countries. If I only spoke Hebrew, I'd be sticking out like a sore tooth.”

  
  


Tony ghosted a smile before saying, “Thumb, Ziva.” Her English idioms still fell short.

  
  


“Same difference.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


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November 13, 2007

  
  


  
  


  
  


Gibbs glanced at his watch for the sixth time in the last hour. DiNozzo and McGee were already at their desks, hard at work and had been for some time. He looked over at Ziva's desk and it's lack of occupancy. Gibbs had called her cell, had DiNozzo and McGee call and everything went to her voice mail. He was about to tell them to call the Mossad Officer and current team leader again when Director Shepard called out from the catwalk above him.

  
  


“Jethro!”

  
  


He looked up at her. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. She used his given name and not his title. The look on her face said that this had to be bad. “Director?”

  
  


“I need to see you in my office, now.” Director Shephard's voice was tight with anxiety.

  
  


Gibbs ignored the curious looks from his Agents and climbed the stairs and followed Jenny into her office, shutting the door behind him. He had to squash a bad feeling in his gut before speaking. “What's the matter, Jen?”

  
  


Jenny took a deep, calming breath before she began. “I just got a call from Bethesda, Jethro. Ziva has been admitted with a whole host of injuries. She was brought in about 45 minutes ago. A neighbor was bringing her garbage out to the curb and saw Ziva laying half under a bush in front of their apartment building. She called 911 and let the paramedics know Ziva is with NCIS. She was unconscious and beaten badly. Bethesda called up her records. Ziva listed me as her emergency contact.”

  
  


Gibbs suddenly felt nauseous...and very responsible. He invoked Rule 38 and appointed Ziva as team leader. “How bad, Jen?” he asked quietly.

  
  


“Bad, but she'll live,” she answered.

  
  


“I'm heading down there. Don't try to stop me.”

  
  


“I wouldn't dream of it,” Shepard called as her door swung shut. She picked up her phone to call Bethesda back and let them know that the force of nature that was Leroy Jethro Gibbs was on his way....and not to stand in his.

  
  


  
  


  
  


NCINCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

  
  


  
  


  
  


Hearing the doors whoosh open, the nurse on duty at the registration desk in the Bethesda Emergency Room looked up to see a large, imposing, gray haired man with piercing blue eyes charging straight at her like an enraged bull. She paled before swallowing hard. “Can I help you, sir?”

  
  


He stopped, his glare at it's most intimidating. “Yeah. Ziva David was brought in; condition?”

  
  


She blinked. This could be the man she was warned about. “I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you any information unless you're-”

  
  


“Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Call Director Jenny Shepard of NCIS and ask her,” Gibbs barked.

  
  


She graced him with a small smile. “Director Shepard called and said to expect you. Agent David was brought in about 0630, unconscious, with multiple injuries. No broken bones, thankfully, but she had a large contusion on the back of her head and emerging bruising over a great deal of her body. Her left kneecap was almost completely dislocated.”

  
  


Gibbs ground his teeth, choosing to let the mistake in Ziva's rank go for the time being. “Where is she right now?”

  
  


“She's still in the ER. Doctor Fielding is just waiting for her to regain consciousness. I can take you back if you like,” she offered. She stood and lead him to the fifth curtained cubicle on the right. “She's in here. You can sit with her as long as you'd like.”

  
  


Gibbs nodded once and drew the curtain aside. What he saw made him feel slightly ill. Ziva was laying in the bed, nasal cannula in place, left eye swollen nearly shut and rapidly changing colors. Her left leg was elevated and held stiff in a foam and plastic brace that went from her mid thigh to just above her ankle. She had an IV in her left hand. He stepped up beside her bed and took her right hand. “Aw, Ziver, I am so sorry.”

  
  


Her voice was at a whisper. “Gibbs?”

  
  


“Hey, I didn't mean to wake you,” he whispered back. “How are you feeling?”

  
  


“I am fine.”

  
  


He shook his head at her spunk. “And you're lying. What happened?”

  
  


Ziva swallowed and rolled her good eye to look at him. “I was finishing my morning run. Uhm..I was just about to open the front door of the building when I was grabbed from behind. I got a good look at two of them, but there were more; at least four.” She coughed, grimacing and trying to hide it.

  
  


Gibbs smoothed her hair back from her forehead. He poured a little water into a plastic cup and put a straw in it and held it to her lips, allowing her to drink. “Enough talking for now, David. You just rest. I'll have Abby come by later to get your description.”

  
  


She nodded slightly, wincing at the motion. “You have to take back the investigation. Gibbs, I have to tell you......I am so sorry. They were Marines.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


NCINCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

  
  


  
  


  
  


“Abby, anything yet?” Gibbs asked as he entered her lab amidst the blaring music.

  
  


Abby turned. “Ziva gave me a really great description of two of them and just bits and pieces of others. I'm running them right now.”

  
  


He kissed her temple, handing her a Caf-Pow. “Good work, Abs.”

  
  


“She's going to be okay, right? I mean, they beat her up pretty good and all, but-”

  
  


“Doc says she's going to be just fine,” Gibbs said. “McGee is picking her up and taking her by Ducky as soon as she's released. He said he'd keep an eye on her overnight.”

  
  


“Shouldn't she stay in the hospital tonight?” Abby asked, voice laced with concern over her friend. “I mean, she just got attacked this morning.”

  
  


“Yeah, she should, but you know she won't stay unless they drug her.”

  
  


“And considering she has a concussion, that's a bad idea,” she finished for him. “Ducky's will be good. His mom can keep her company and the dogs can keep her safe. As soon as my babies get a match I want to go back and see her.”

  
  


“Abbs, she's gonna be fine.”

  
  


Abby threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “No, she's not, Gibbs! She can't walk without crutches and she's concussed and only has one eye right now. She's going to need some help,” she replied, refusing to be put off.

  
  


Gibbs knew better than to argue with his extremely stubborn forensics specialist. He knew how long it took her to warm up to the Israeli and finally become friends with her. He let it ride. “At least let Ducky get her settled at his place before you land on her.”

  
  


“Of course! I'll bring her some clothes to relax in and stuff to read and some treats. I'd stop at her place, but I don't have a-”

  
  


“Key,” Gibbs said, dangling a silver key on a small chain in front of her. “No snooping.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


 


End file.
